


Almost Easy

by fyction



Category: Avenged Sevenfold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyction/pseuds/fyction
Summary: Blair Peterson's life was just beginning--newly 21, a record deal, early setting fame. While in attendance at a music festival, she makes fast friends with Jimmy Sullivan. It doesn't take long before Jimmy is introducing Blair to a world of indulgence: parties, drugs, music, and Synyster Gates.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. What's a Rev?

Chapter One: What's a Rev?  
I wasn’t a bad person.  
Indulgent, maybe; but not bad.  
I’d abandoned any semblances of my former life in lieu of one of glitz and glamour. When I say glamour, I actually mean dingy dive bars and seedy producers, each more conniving than the last.  
My band had hit a lucky streak six months prior and we’d started to develop a pretty solid fan base among the stale festival runs. I’d been hitting the high notes since I was in diapers; so, really it only made sense to make a career out of it. If you wanted to make it in metal back then, the recipe was pretty simple: a hefty dollop of killer guitar, solid kicks on the kit, and if you wanted instant notary, add a woman to the front.  
So, that’s what we did.  
We were offered the holy grail that all rock bands wait eternities for: a record deal. Albeit, it was a deal that promised very little financial earnings, but we were young, and we were stupid and so we signed the dotted line.   
It had been a grueling six months in the studio; everyone at each other’s throats by the end of it. That wasn’t a particularly new experience for me personally, given that the band was at my specific throat more often than not. Either way, we got through it. We released it.   
And much to our surprise and relief, we were a hit.   
Determined to exploit the momentum of our supposed success, our manager was deadest on sending us out of the nest. We were set to head out on a four-month North American stint in only a few months. It was arguably the most adventurous thing I’d ever done.   
I’d be lying if I said I held even a sliver of excitement in my palms. The notion of being trapped on a bus with four disturbingly unhygienic dudes was hardly my idea of a good time. Though, a bus was a far superior option than the tight quarters of a beat down old van like we’d used in the past. Maybe it was less the mode of transportation that had me hesitating and more the passengers of said mode.   
“I was thinking,” Tyler, my demon of a guitarist and lifelong best friend, mused from atop his amp. “We should go check out that festival in LA this weekend.”  
I rolled my eyes, “I’m not going to lie to you, Ty. I intend to do a whole lot of nothing before we head out on the road. You know, laying low in my apartment watching shitty movies and eating cold Chinese food. The shit dreams are made of. I don’t know that a festival is in line with my interests.”  
“System is playing,” he smirked knowingly.  
“Fuck—really?”  
He always knew how to appeal to my sense of wonder. Dangling my favourite bands in front of my face was a pretty surefire way of coercing me into—well, nearly anything.   
But I swiftly caught my own mistake, shaking my head profusely, “No way.”  
“Yes way,” he nodded cockily. “Call Austin and get him to throw us on the list—we should use our names for personal gain for once.”  
“For once?” I laughed.  
We’d had Austin, our band manager (and my own personal nemesis), put us on lists for shows for months. We’d never been denied, never had a problem on the way in—it was any music lover’s dream.  
“Okay, fair,” Ty snickered, setting his guitar pick between his teeth. “But it’s fucking System, Blair. Aren’t they on your fucking bucket list or something?”  
“Fuck,” I groaned, hating my best friend deep down inside. “Fine.”  
He cheered triumphantly, tossing his arms into the air over his head, “The mighty Blair Peterson taken down in three sentences or less! I swear to god I’ve got this mastered.”  
Another roll of my eyes, “Shut up, Tyler.”  
A smirk played along his lips, “Okay, okay. In all seriousness, I’m not feeling particularly inspired today—and since the others didn’t feel like showing up, should we call it a day or what?”  
I fidgeted with the pen between my fingers, looking up at him from my cross-legged position on the floor. I’d been playing with lyrics all afternoon, struggling to find a vein of gold in any of my thoughts. Not that it mattered; my ideas were never farmed for recording. No one ever took my creativity seriously. I was a figurehead and nothing else.   
And every day, I pretended it didn’t bother me.   
I shrugged my shoulders, “Yeah, go ahead. I’m gonna hang around for a bit longer.”  
“Fuck that,” he grinned, repositioning the guitar in his lap. “You stay, I stay. Maybe I can talk you into some more shit. You need more adventure in your life. You’re getting fucking boring in your old age.”  
“Again,” I sighed, diverting my gaze to the notebook below, “Shut up, Tyler.” 

\-----

The drive to Los Angeles was as long as it was dreary. It was a decent excuse for excessive tunes and inappropriately loud singing though. My throat was sore by time we pulled into the allocated festival parking. A teenager in an orange vest directed us with a few waves of his hands, Tyler struggling to follow the silent direction—but eventually we found an empty spot traced in yellow paint. And as we climbed out from the car, we realized just how very far we had to go.  
“You pumped or what?” Tyler beamed, pulling at my Primus tank as we walked.  
I shrugged, feigning entire disinterest, “I guess.”  
“Fuck off,” he snickered, shoving at me. “Today will change your whole life, Blair.”  
I’d protested this wild declaration—which accidentally encouraged Tyler to go off on a damn tangent about how very wrong I was. Apparently, this would be the festival to end all festivals. This would be the one to awaken my greying soul and rejuvenate my youth. I tuned out sometime after I’d heard the words ‘retirement home’.   
We’d almost made it to the back entrance when I was shaken from my trance, a small group of three jumped out into our path. Their faces were writhing with excitement and their hearts were thumping so hard I could hear each beat from where I stood.  
Tyler instinctively put himself in front of me. We’d been friends since we were four and he was always protecting me—in the sandbox, on the stage, and everything in between. Prospective boyfriends beware.  
“Are you Blair Peterson?” one of the teen girls shrieked.  
She was probably only a few years younger than I was but in my composure I felt ancient. Maybe Tyler had been onto something with all the old lady jokes.   
There would be time for contemplation on that later.   
“That’s me,” I waved sheepishly.  
“Oh my fucking god!” she cried—literally piercing my eardrums. “Can I have your autograph?”  
“That means you’re Tyler Brody!” one of her friends gushed. “Man, you shred so hard!”  
“Yeah, Ty,” I snickered quietly, nudging his ribs with my elbow. “You shred so hard.”  
He scolded me with a glare, immediately falling into his character of metal band guitarist; a charming one at that.   
Once they’d gotten their fill—and their pictures—they let us pass. We wasted no time rushing to security, proving our identity, and then sheltering ourselves indoors.  
I pulled my pack of Marlboros from the back pocket of my denim shorts, sliding one free as Tyler lead me through the small crowds.   
Pursing a cigarette between my lips, I voiced my only real pressing thought, “Okay. Drinks first or straight to the stage?”  
Tyler raised his brows, looking down at me like I’d lost my damn mind, “Drinks obviously.”  
The line for backstage refreshments was astonishing small. It was 4:30 in the afternoon which seemed like the perfect time for some whiskey love. Hell, there was hardly a time where you’d ever catch me turning down a stiff drink.   
Like I said, indulgent.  
Tyler ordered himself a rye and coke, fiddling with his wallet to pull out a few bills.   
“Make it two,” I winked at the bartender.  
I was freshly twenty-one and was, as far as I was concerned, in my prime. Legal drinking was truly superior to sneaking brown paper bags into clubs and sneaking sips in the bathroom stalls.  
An exchange went down and soon enough, I held the beauty of whiskey in a red solo cup tightly in my hand. Tyler took a swift swig of his own.   
“Okay,” I said, lighting the end of my smoke and taking a long drag, “Stage?”  
“You go,” Tyler replied without looking at me. “There are some points of interest to my right that I’d like to go see to.”  
My green eyes travelled to his right, settling over a group of blondes. Tall, thin, shrill and carrying voices. Just Tyler’s type.  
I was no one’s type. My hair was painted jet black, my eyeliner always matched. My skin had been permanently injected with ink sprawling from one end of my body to the other. I didn’t have a sliver of class in even a fingertip. Profanity was my comfort level and I physically could not speak without cussing. Beyond all this, I was guarded and distant and didn’t have much interest in the world outside my tiny apartment. I’d learned that this was not the average man’s version of a dream woman.  
That was fine with me—I did well enough with the men, if you know what I mean, not to find myself too bored. I didn’t need that nonsensical commitment shit either. I was perfectly content to be on my own.  
It wasn’t like it never got lonely…Or so I liked to remind myself.   
I struggled to hold my drinks and keep the smoke out of my eye but scowling at Tyler’s latest endeavors was worth the ache in my retina.   
Tyler reached out to snatch the cigarette from my mouth, tossing it to the concrete floor and smashing it with his toes, “You should quit.”  
“Off you go then,” I groaned, determine to skip over the latest scolding for my habits.   
I was sure to kick him in the back of the leg before turning myself around and making my way out to the stages.   
If Tyler wanted to waste his time on women and miss out on the actual talent in the vicinity, so be it. That, however, was not my style.  
After a bit of wandering, I’d positioned myself to the right of the main stage in the wings, far enough out that I wouldn’t be in the way of roadies as they rushed around but close enough that I had a decent view. A far better view than you’d get from being in the midst of it all. The crowd was massive—I hoped that one day my band would be big enough to play shows of this size.  
That’s how I’d know that we’d made it.  
“Hey,” a voice grumbled from behind me. “Hold this, would ya?”  
Just as I spun around, a giant of a human was thrusting three beers at me, he was very obviously struggling not to drop them. His long fingers were strained around the disarray of red cups. Always willing to help a fellow drinker in their mission to get drunk, I obliged.   
I put my own drink on the floor to better receive this stranger’s beverages.  
“Thank you,” he huffed as he carefully passed two of them over. “Fuck.”  
I stared at him.  
I could think of nothing else to do.   
In hindsight, I probably looked like the equivalent of a deer in headlights—but with apposable thumbs, holding beer in absolute confusion.   
“Stocking up,” he grinned, answering a question I hadn’t asked. “Then I won’t have to leave.”  
“That’s a fair point,” I noted awkwardly.  
“I see you hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he replied, gesturing to my lonely drink on the floor by my feet.  
I hesitated, “No…I actually just—I mean, I guess not.”  
He laughed, a toothy grin lingering along his lips, “Should educate you.”  
I could feel my face become flush.  
He thrust a tattooed hand toward me, “I’m Jimmy.”  
“Blair,” I replied slowly, my voice all but abandoning me in my time of need.   
“Good spot you’ve got here,” he informed me proudly. “I think I’ll stick around.”   
Pursing my lips, I nodded sheepishly, “You came to watch System?”  
“I came to watch everybody!” he shouted loudly.  
My ears rang. But for whatever reason, I found myself smiling faintly. His enthusiasm was almost contagious.   
“So what are you, a girlfriend or something?” he asked then, gesturing to return his drinks I still held in my possession.  
I held them out for him, “What?”  
“How’d you end up back here? Why aren’t you in the crowd?” he tried again, sipping at one of the returned cups. “You fucking someone in the band? They’re a little old for you, don’t ya think?”  
“Don’t be weird,” I retorted with my face scrunched. “I’m not fucking them. I was on the list.”  
He narrowed his eyes at me, “What list?”   
“The same list you were on, I’m guessing,” I replied with a laugh.  
“You’re witty. I like you. We’re going to be friends, I can tell.”   
I smiled, raising my brows up, “Okay, Jimmy.”  
“Rev!” someone shouted from across the way, interrupting our banter for a second.  
He waved them off with a frazzled look before turning back to me, putting the stupid grin back onto his smug face.   
“So—”  
“Rev?” I interrupted swiftly; my face rumpled up in confusion. “What’s a Rev?”  
“The Reverend Tholomew Plague,” he bowed, keeping his eyes locked with mine, “at your service.”


	2. Get Free

Chapter Two: Get Free

“Okay, okay,” Jimmy let his laughter trail off, the smirk on his face remaining. “Corey Taylor or Jonathan Davis?”  
I was repulsed, “Dude, how can you ask me that?”  
“It’s part of the game, Blair,” he informed me dryly. “Who are you saving?”  
This required far too much thought on my part than was probably necessary. But Korn held a special place in my soul—I’d spent countless hours blasting Follow the Leader in my bedroom until it was demanded I cease all joy at once. However, Corey Taylor’s voice did something to my soul that I couldn’t quit put into words.   
With great reluctance, I sighed, “Corey. I’m saving Corey.”  
Jimmy grinned from ear to ear, “I’m on board with that decision.”  
I finished the last of my drink, crumpling the cup in my hand before moving to the untouched liquor clutched in the other. Jimmy mimicked me, snatching the garbage from my grip before prancing off to the nearest trash can like a responsible human. He came back quickly, presumably ready to further my anguish by throwing more impossible choices my way. But I’d grown tired of the heartache that came with hypothetically killing off my idols.   
“What about you, Jimmy?” I asked before he could fire anything else my way.  
He raised a brow, sipping at his foamy beer, “What about me, what?”  
“What category would you fall into? I assume you’re a musician.”   
“And why’s that?” he inquired with a devilish charm.  
“You certainly look the fucking part,” I cackled, gesturing to his entirety with an open palm.  
His jet black hair stuck out in every direction, the front ends dangling by his chin lifelessly. His arms were coated in colour and chaos. Three individual belts hung from his hips, serving no obvious purpose other than ridiculousness and—arguably—fashion.   
He laughed loudly, shrugging his shoulders, “Fair enough. I’m a drummer! So, I guess that’s my category.”  
“A drummer, huh? You any good?”  
“Depends who you ask,” he replied meekly, scowling down at his drink as if it had whispered some obscenity about his mother in his ear.  
I nodded, “I’m asking you.”  
“Oh. Yeah, I guess I’m alright.”  
“And to whom do you belong?” I further probed.   
But Jimmy swatted away my question with a literal flail of his hand, “We should get out into the pit! I’m just drunk enough to make it a good time!”  
I stared at him blankly.   
Jimmy didn’t know me, so I’m not sure why I’d expected him to blindly hack into my psyche to unveil my irrational fear of crowds. I’d never been one to throw myself into the masses—it always left me feeling somehow claustrophobic. I hated forming into a sea of masses. I hated sweaty bodies pushing themselves up against me. I hated to be lost in the adrenaline.   
“Come on,” he insisted, pushing at my arm. “It’ll be fun. Unless you’re scared. You’re not scared, are you, Blair?”  
I refused to let him fancy me a chicken.  
“Of course fucking not,” I lied. “Let’s go.”  
He led me away from the drink tents; a thought I wasn’t particularly at ease with. Nevertheless, and for reasons unbeknownst to me at the time, I followed him. It was difficult to keep up with his pace; his long legs giving him a massive edge over my stride. At 5’2, I paled in comparison to this giant.   
He linked his arm with mine as he dragged me into the crowd gathered along one of the side stages. The ocean of screaming fans reached far beyond the metal rails, meeting the horizon out back in a dizzying array of enthusiasm. I tried not to think about it.   
But as the band poured onto the stage and swept us all up in their electric intoxication, I found myself feeling strangely connected. The panic that would typically engulf my soul in one bite seemed to relent. It hung back at my ankles, waiting for the perfect moment to trip me up.  
But Jimmy kept my arm in his and the opportunity for a fall never arose.  
We moved around from crowds to crowds, stopping every so often to refresh our sobering minds with well-deserved bouts of shots. And each time, Jimmy would leave me laughing.   
It’s cliché, I know, but trust me when I tell you, it was as if I’d known him my entire life.   
There wasn’t a moment of awkwardness. There were no lulls in conversations or in energy. He kept me stapled to his side as we navigated the expansive festival grounds and took in as much as we possibly could. Eventually, though, we tired of being shoved around and retreated to the safety harbored behind the stages. We took up residence along one of the wooden tables, Jimmy disappearing for a couple of minutes to retrieve an excess of red cups to further indulge in.  
I was not at all disappointed when he came back touting more than any one person could ever hope to drink on their own.  
“I’m curious,” he declared as if from nowhere as he folded himself onto the bench and squeezed his legs beneath the table, “to whom do you belong? I’ve been trying to figure it out.”  
“What?” I asked confusedly, snatching up one of the drinks and immediately downing half of it in one go.  
I was a bit of a binge drinker when I wanted to be.   
But I’d never had a friend that could keep up.   
“You’re a musician,” he informed me. “But I can’t figure out who you are. I mean, I know who you are. You’re Blair. But who the fuck are you, Blair?”  
My teeth sunk into my bottom lip as I tried my absolute hardest not to laugh. Jimmy’s face contorted with frustration as he broke out into another session of nattering, talking himself in circles before finally giving up.   
“I’m a singer,” I finally replied, throwing him a mercy kill. “I belong to a band called Haven, if you want to word it like that.”  
“I worded it how you worded it,” he retorted cockily.  
With a roll of my eyes, I laughed, “Right, yeah. Whatever. I belong to Haven.”  
I could see the gears in his head turning.  
Lightbulb.  
“Oh, shit! I know you guys! My best friend Matt really digs you guys,” Jimmy told me excitedly. “Don’t hate me, Blair, but I haven’t actually had a chance to hear you myself.”  
“I wouldn’t waste your time,” I assured him passively. “We’re not that great.”  
The drummer scoffed, “Don’t be so fucking modest. It’s gross. You have to be pretty good to get Matt’s attention. The real test, though, is my approval.”  
“Well, then,” I grinned over at him, “I guess you should check us out and report your findings.”  
“Will do,” he grinned back, saluting me lazily with two fingers.   
I took a moment to finish my drink, pushing the empty cup to the side before thieving another one from Jimmy’s stash. My eyes found him curiously; he was staring off into the distance, eyes narrowed. There was something about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, a familiarity of sorts. I was certain I’d never crossed paths with him before, nor had we ever exchanged introductions prior.   
But something about his very existence felt like some elongated state of déjà vu.   
His head turned back around, his crystal blue eyes settling over me. The faintest smile washed itself over his bowed lips.   
“Are you guys from the area too?” he asked me curiously.   
I shook off the strange fascination that had crept over me.   
“No,” I replied coolly. “We’re originally from some tiny fucking town in Massachusetts.”   
“Holy shit,” he recoiled with slight amusement. “Pretty far from home there, Blair.”  
“Home now is Anaheim. I’ve lived in California for a couple of years now.”  
“And?”  
My head tilted to its side, “And what?”  
“And what do you think? What’s better, California or Massachusetts?”  
I scoffed hard, “That isn’t even a fucking question, dude. California is far superior.”  
He nodded in agreement, “Massachusetts is fucking cold, isn’t it?”  
“Sometimes,” I shrugged.  
Were we really going to talk about the weather?  
“I’ve never really explored it,” he thought aloud. “Only passed through. Maybe I’ll have to take a personal vacation out there, see where the one and only Blair—Wait, Blair what?”  
I smirked, “Peterson.”  
“Right. See where the one and only Blair Peterson hails from.”  
“I seriously wouldn’t bother. There’s nothing to do where I’m from. It’s nothing like Anaheim. Or Los Angeles, for the matter. Not that I make much of an effort to spend much time in LA.”  
“Me neither,” Jimmy concurred. “I live in Huntington Beach. It’s got just enough shit going on that I don’t need to come up here to get a taste of nightlife. It’s my very own little piece of heaven.”  
“Huntington Beach?” I repeated curiously. “I haven’t been yet.”  
He was absolutely appalled. His jaw dropped as he scowled at me in deep offence.  
“How the fuck have you not been to HB!? Do you live under a fucking rock, Blair Peterson?”  
“No,” I contested with a stifled laugh. “I live under a piece of cardboard. Starving artist and all that.”  
He hesitated, eying me in a way that left me feeling strangely stripped. It was as if he was peeling my skin away from the bone, reading my every memory from each muscle. With just a look, this boy was analyzing me.   
I shifted uncomfortably.   
I’d never been particularly fond of anyone trying to read me.   
“Well,” he finally spoke again, “when you decide to stop being fucking lame, you’ll have to come down. We have the best beach in Southern California, I swear. You’d love it.”  
“How do you know I love beaches?” I retorted, hiding my challenging grin behind my drink. “Maybe I’m afraid of sand.”  
“Maybe,” he considered. “But I doubt it. I’ll make you fall in love, you’ll see.”  
“Challenge accepted,” I breathed, raising my cup to him.  
He raised his back at me, letting our eyes meet in the middle in some strange battle for dominance.  
“Drink up, Blair,” he instructed firmly. “Your love is hitting the stage soon and I refuse to fucking miss it because you’re taking your sweet ass time.”  
My eyes narrowed at him, “First of all, who the fuck is my love? Second, you’re the one still working on their first drink of the bunch, you fuck. Keep up.”  
His laugh echoed off each and every cloud hanging in the sky, “Let’s both hurry the fuck up then.”  
“Ready?” I concurred, catching his drift immediately.  
With a nod, we got down to serious business—and we chugged each and every last drop of those drinks in record time. Something I didn’t truly feel until I climbed to my feet a moment later and the world went spinning in every direction.   
But Jimmy caught me with amusement, our arms linked once more.   
Staggering and killing ourselves laughing at our current state of shared disarray, we made our way to the stage Slipknot was set to grace any moment.   
We lost ourselves in the sea of bodies.  
There was no heart-wrenching horror. There was no anxiety or fear. There were no strangled glances searching for an exit strategy. There was only me, Jimmy, and the music.   
I’d never felt more free.


	3. Eat Your Vegetables

Chapter Three: Eat Your Vegetables

Jimmy and I had just collapsed our exhausted bodies along the chain-link posted around the exterior of the festival grounds when Tyler finally found us. We were absolutely wasted, our hair matted with sweat and possibly a little blood; not our own.   
Tyler had an unnatural ability to always find me. It didn’t matter where I was or how far away I’d ventured; he was like a bloodhound.   
“Hey,” Tyler called as he neared us, an extra drink in his hand for my pleasure. “I got you—”  
His eyes widened at the sight of Jimmy sprawled out on the ground next to me, still smiling from the last joke he’d made.  
Tyler planted himself at our feet, staring wide-eyed down at Jimmy. No words floated up from his throat. He did nothing but open and close his mouth like some deranged fish.   
I cooled my giggles, and pointed my thumb to the gothic giant beside me, “Oh, hey, this is—”  
“The fucking Rev,” Tyler cut me off, slowly picking his jaw up from the grass.   
Jimmy grinned maniacally, extending his hand out to my guitarist, “How’s it going, man?”  
But Tyler only gawked further, muttering a baffled, “Holy shit.”  
“Ty,” I scoffed a laughed. “Don’t be rude—introduce yourself for fuck’s sakes.”  
Tyler was star struck.  
I shook my head, turning back to Jimmy, “This is Tyler Brody. He’s our guitarist.”  
Jimmy eyed Tyler like prey, “I’m Jimmy.”  
“I-I know who you are,” Tyler managed, his eyes glazed over. “You’re a legend, dude.”  
“Legend, icon, a god… it’s really all the same,” Jimmy fluffed his hair. “It’s always nice to be appreciated.”  
This sent me into another fit of unprecedented laughter. My giggles infected Jimmy, and soon he, too, was keeled over laughing. This seemed to snap Tyler out of his shock a little.   
“H-How?” Tyler stammered down at me. “How do you know the Rev?”  
Before I could answer, Jimmy had me in a headlock, “We go way back.”  
“How did I not know that you knew the Rev?” he asked seriously, his face was angry now. “How did you neglect to tell me that?”  
“Slipped my mind,” I smiled passively.   
Tyler was scowling in a way that only Tyler could. He had very little patience for my shenanigans, especially once I’d been into the liquor. Ty had never had much of a sense of humor.   
He was, by my own admission, a bit of a killjoy.   
“We’re secret lovers,” Jimmy swept in with raised brows. “We’ve been keeping it on the down low. So,” he held his bony finger to his lips, “Sh.”  
“Blair couldn’t get a lover if she tried,” Tyler said without thinking.   
I gasped, feigning great offence, “Thank you for that.”  
He wasn’t necessarily wrong. I had never, in my twenty-one years of existence, ever called a single human being by that coveted title of ‘boyfriend’. I’d had a few short-lived flings and countless one-night stands. Nothing withstanding, though. Nothing notable or important.   
Tyler’s eyes widened again, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. Sorry—I meant… there’s just no way… I mean.. it’s the fucking Rev, Blair.”  
“Yes, I’ve gathered that,” I laughed dryly, rolling my eyes.   
“Do you think he’s a fan?” Jimmy asked me in a whisper. “I think he might be a fan.”  
“She doesn’t even know who you are,” Tyler informed Jimmy sternly. “She fucking hates your band.”  
“Remind me to have a chat with you later about over-sharing,” I joked to my friend who had obviously stopped caring about me the second he spotted Jimmy.  
Jimmy scolded me, pointing his finger in my face, “This is problematic news, Blair. It’s very important that you listen to my band. And always eat your vegetables—that’s important too.”  
“I think I’ll drink instead,” I winked and raised my cup cockily.  
“Yes! By George she’s got it!” Jimmy shouted; arms stretched above his head before letting one fall clumsily over my shoulders. “Fuck vegetables! Let’s get fucked up!”  
“Is that for me?” I asked Tyler as I pointed at one of the cups in his hand, closing one eye to better get a good view of it.   
“Oh—yeah…I would have brought one for you if I’d known,” Tyler said to his idol, essentially shoving me back into the shadows once more.   
Jimmy smiled, “It’s cool, man. I’ll escort you to the booth.”  
Sliding his arm back from my body, Jimmy pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off. He was immediately pushing Ty in the direction from which he had just come. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t entertained.  
“We’ll be back,” Jimmy called over his shoulder to me as they disappeared.   
Left to my own devices, I got comfortable in the grass, the fence as my own personal backrest.   
I wondered what Jimmy’s band sounded like. Tyler had definitely overstepped the truth with his declaration of hatred. I wasn’t even sure I’d ever heard his band. Or maybe I had and Tyler was right. Was he right?  
My mind was spinning. I’d had far too much to drink to even try and wade through what was truth and what was myth.   
Tyler and Jimmy weren’t gone long but returned with an abundance of red cups, each spilling over into the others. I had a sense alcohol poisoning was in my imminent future, but made absolutely no efforts to deter the toxins.   
“Take some,” Tyler said to me with a sigh.  
So, I sat up and reached out for a cup or two. I took as many as I could hold without spilling them all over myself.   
“So,” Jimmy exhaled, “what’s the plan for after the last band hits the stage? What are we doing?”  
“We were going to go home,” I replied simply, sipping at a beer with a seriously dissatisfying odour.  
Jimmy scowled, “That’s dumb.”  
“What are you doing after?” Tyler volunteered weakly.  
I think the sight of Jimmy still made him deeply uncomfortable and edgy. Tyler had always been far more of a fangirl than I’d ever been. It took more than that to rattle my cage. But Tyler had never been much of a master of his emotions. They often overtook him with an unrelenting rage. He was powerless beneath their might.   
Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows, “There’s a giant afterparty going on downtown. You guys should totally come—I can call Matt and have him put you on the list with us.”  
I bit at my bottom lip, “I don’t know, Jimmy. I don’t think I’m up for a huge party.”  
Tyler glared down at me with purpose. I gathered I’d said the wrong thing. I could do nothing but shrug up at him, sipping at my drink like it might wash innocence over my injustice.   
“But Blair,” Jimmy pouted dramatically, “How will we become best friends if you won’t come and hang out with me at a super cool party with a bunch of other super cool people?”  
“Blair don’t be a stick in the mud,” Tyler grumbled to me.  
Between Tyler’s hostility and Jimmy’s visual pleading, I wasn’t sure how to say no—even though I really, really wanted to.  
There was only so much socializing I could do in one day without my entire being feeling drained of its life. I’d already more than met my quota for the entire week. The idea of immersing myself in a party with a bunch of strangers left me reeling. All I wanted to do was hitch a ride back to Anaheim and crawl onto my couch—I wanted to sleep for three straight days.   
But neither Jimmy nor Tyler appeared to be buying into my plan.   
So, I hatched a new plan: go to the party, stay for a drink, fake sick, go home.  
Perfect.  
“Okay, fine,” I said finally, trying to hide the reluctance in my voice, “I’ll go.”  
“Awesome!” Jimmy beamed proudly. “I’ll go call Matt.”  
With that, Jimmy excused himself with cell phone in hand.   
Tyler took up the space on the ground next to me, leaning into my ear with his voice dropped, “He means M. Shadows.”  
And that was a name I’d heard before.  
It clicked for me then.  
“Jimmy’s from Avenged Sevenfold?”  
Tyler rolled his eyes, “Why do vocalists only know other vocalists, huh? You guys never know any of the band’s members aside from your own kind.”  
I disregarded this, “I’ve heard good things about their music.”  
“You’re incredible,” Tyler laughed. “I try for years to get you to listen to them and you flat out refuse; you meet the drummer one time and suddenly your mind is wide open.”  
“Then he did you a favor, I guess,” I shrugged.   
Tyler groaned, “I have one of their albums on my iPod, we can listen to them on the way over to this super cool party. I wonder if Synyster Gates will be there.”  
I furrowed my brows, “Who?”  
“Synyster Gates.”  
“What the fuck is a sinister gate?” I asked in my most condescending tone. “Just a gate that looks particularly ominous?”  
Tyler groaned, “Blair—it’s the guitarist’s stage name. And it’s fucking badass.”  
I rolled my eyes, “Super.”  
“I’m telling you,” Tyler laughed, tipping his own cup against his lips, “You guys only know your own kind.”  
I grinned, “But I know Jimmy—sorry, the Rev—so that says something, doesn’t it?”  
“Yeah,” Tyler laughed, “It says I owe you a month of take out to make up for taking me to this fucking party.”


	4. Enochlophobia

Chapter Four: Enochlophobia  
 _As they thank the Lord the blind can't see. Like a plague fed to the brain deadly disease… _  
“This is fucking awesome,” I grinned, shouting over the music.  
Tyler nodded enthusiastically, drumming along to the song on his steering wheel.  
We’d carefully selected Avenged Sevenfold’s newest album as my first (intentional) taste of their music. Tyler had explained that while Waking the Fallen was a crowd favourite, City of Evil was his personal favourite album to date. None of that meant absolutely anything to me, but I’d nodded along like it held at least minimal value to my otherwise uneducated mind.   
“It’s really fucking cool,” he’d told me, holding the CD case up by his face. “Wait until you hear the solo in MIA—you’re going to die.”  
Despite my best efforts, Tyler refused to start off with that song. Apparently, Tyler liked to listen to albums the way their creators intended; in order.  
I, however, was indulgent. It never made sense to me to tease oneself with the promise of a song you loved approaching. Fuck that. Skip right to track 9, let that bass line sooth your soul.  
But it was Tyler’s car; driver’s rules.  
So, I sat back in my seat and watched the world fly by us. My foot tapped to the beat, not that I could actually hold a beat. But it was hypnotizing. The face behind those drum kicks sat in the back of my mind, the sound of his laughter painted on my memory.   
He was fucking impressive.   
It won't matter in the end I'm sure they'll understand. Now look at the world and see how the humans bleed…”  
“Why have we not listened to them before now?” I shouted, eyeing my best friend who glared over at me.  
“I’ve tried,” Tyler groaned, reaching out to turn the volume down to a reasonable level. “You are a music snob.”  
I raised an eyebrow, “A snob?”  
“Yes,” he chuckled, widening his eyes as if that might convey just how very serious he was. “You like what you like—to hell with anything new. That includes new albums from bands you love, too. You’re a fucking musical asshole, Blair. If you’d open your mind a little, you might actually find some new shit you like.”  
I rolled my eyes and slouched down in the seat, “How can I sing along if I don’t know the words?”  
He grumbled, eternally flustered by me, “You’re impossible.”  
I had to agree. I’d been what Tyler described as ‘snobby’ for the entirety of my existence. I had to be in the right mood to take in anything new. Even then, it often felt like more of a chore than some magical new experience.   
I was a creature of habit. It’s probably how I’d been able to learn to sing with such a wide range.   
You are what you eat—and I ate a lot of insane vocalists for breakfast.  
“Well, these guys are sick,” I said finally, pulling the CD case back out to study the liner notes. “I’m impressed.”  
Tyler looked at me from the sides of his eyes, “They make me feel like a really shitty musician. I’ll never be at Synyster Gates’ level.”  
“Don’t be so self-depreciative,” I moaned, flipping through the glossy pages. “It’s irritating.”  
He put his focus back on the road stretching out before us, the sun just beginning to fade behind the tall trees.  
I knew that I could be overly abrupt, borderline careless at times—I was problematically apathetic and most often unaware of the effects of my words. Believe it or not, I often thought long and hard about what I wanted to say before I’d dare part my lips. But with Tyler? Well, it was different. He was an extension of my own soul. We’d been inseparable for most of our lives—and thus, the filter had been tossed out the window years and years prior.   
Sometimes, I was sure, I should think harder about how I spoke to Tyler before letting my mouth fall ajar—but I never did commit to that revelation.  
Tyler was polar opposite to me. He had an expressive face and held many, many feelings at his chest beneath his exterior. His insides were encased in a rare mixture of glass and eggshell. There was nothing Tyler couldn’t find a way to take personally—and with great offence.  
Years of friendship had taught me to be apologetic with him always.  
I rubbed the back of my neck uncomfortably, “Sorry—I didn’t mean—You know I think you’re an incredible guitarist.”  
He nodded, eyes glued ahead, “I know.”  
I forced the corners of my lips into a curve, “You can appreciate other musicians without it depreciating what you can do, you know.”  
He repeated himself flatly, “I know.”  
Narrowing my eyes at him, I reached over to push at his tense shoulder, “You’re great—do you know that?”  
He laughed finally, “Yeah, I know.”  
Tyler had been sensitive for as long as I’d known him. He was protective of me, sure; but he had no idea how protective I was forced to be of him. He didn’t need to be protected from women or from critics—No, what he really needed to be protected from was himself. He was a bit of a loose canon.  
He had more demons hanging from his skin, their claws extended and buried deep, than Hell had holed up in its caverns.   
Looking at him now, you’d have never guessed he had such darkness swimming around inside. You’d never know the horrors he’d shown to me. You’d never consider what he might have put himself through—or me by extension.   
He was beautiful to see and mesmerizing to hear. Beyond all of that, though, he was my best friend. He was like a brother to me. At the end of it all, he was family.   
The only family I had.   
The stinging fog of the past threatened to billow up and spill itself across the dashboard. I could feel it gripping at my chest, cracking each and every one of my bones with its icy grip.   
I shoved it away with all my might—Just as I did with everything else.  
“How much further?” I asked then, clearing my throat of the proverbial taste of the past.   
He shrugged, “I don’t know, really. Maybe five minutes?”  
Apparently someone with deep pockets had rented out some old warehouse and transformed it into party grounds of epic proportions. I got the sense that Jimmy was one to exaggerate, though; so, I was skeptical to say the least.  
Part of me hoped he was exaggerating, anyway.   
Parties had always made me nervous—my life had taught me to stick mostly to myself. I wasn’t particularly fond of people in general…and I held a pretty serious aversion to crowds in high regard. They brought great unease to my soul.   
I know what you’re thinking. It’s the same thing everyone is always thinking when they find out I’m terrified of crowds.   
You’re a lead singer of a band but you don’t like big groups of people? How does that make any sense?  
Let me tell you something…  
It doesn’t.  
But leading a band was never my goal. I didn’t grow up aspiring to be a singer. I didn’t grow up aspiring to be famous. I grew up hoping to be happy.  
Joining a band was something Tyler had convinced me to do. The same way he convinced me to make most big decisions in life. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever actually done anything for myself. Everything had always been about Tyler…My whole life revolved around him. It revolved around keeping him above water.   
Even if I drowned holding him up.  
“You might like it,” he’d said to me all those years ago. “We need a singer—and as luck would have it, you can sing!”  
He’d formed a metal band when we were in high school. We were barely sixteen and Tyler had made it his life’s mission to make it big in the music industry. The original singer’s name was Cooper and he was a proper twat. He was egotistical and obnoxious. What drove me the most insane, though, was that he didn’t have the intelligence to back up his pompousness. It was all literal ego.  
I fucking hated him.  
The band had voted him out following a questionable sexual encounter with a mousy girl from our school. It was never really clear what had gone on, but given Cooper’s general douchiness, he’d been effectively voted off the island.   
His family moved to Colorado a couple months later.  
This departure left a void in the band that I inevitably, and reluctantly, filled. As if by some wizardry, we’d started booking gigs right away—started to travel further and further from home…started to garner a sliver of notoriety around the Boston area.   
Eventually growing tired of Massachusetts, we made the move to California when I was freshly nineteen. I’d originally planned to set my roots down on the west coast by my eighteenth birthday, but life never goes according to plan, does it?  
“I think this is it,” Tyler spoke suddenly, breaking me from my trance.  
We were down an almost entirely desolate road, a giant grey building to our right. He slowed the car down a little, giving us plenty opportunity to properly examine the situation at hand.  
There were people scattered everywhere.   
Groups stood in circles smoking and shouting. Women stumbled around on their heels like baby deer taking their first steps. The outside racket pierced through our speakers and cut through the song that had been filling our silence.   
My heart started to flutter as my anxiety kicked itself into high gear.  
“How the fuck are we going to find the Rev in there?” Tyler asked seriously, creeping the car up the road in search for a place to park.  
I bit at my lip nervously, “I don’t know—ask around for him, I guess.”  
“Maybe he’ll find us,” Tyler suggested with a laugh.  
We’d almost hit the end of the road when a car pulled out from the shoulder and sped off, thus conveniently offering up a place to rest our wheels. Tyler pulled the car into the free space and let the engine die out.   
He turned to me in the silence and gave me his most serious look, “It’s going to be fun.”  
My anxiety disagreed.  
“Right,” I nodded once. “Fun.”  
“You’re okay,” he reassured me. “If you can sing in front of thousands of people, you can attend a party of a couple hundred.”  
“I mean—” I hesitated, quickly deciding it best not to argue. “That’s not the same but I see your point.”  
“You’re right, being on stage is far more intimate,” he concurred knowingly. “Most people here probably won’t even know who you are.”  
I tilted my head, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”  
“Yes,” he laughed. “Let’s go.”  
I pushed myself out of the rusted car and into the crisp California air. It was then that I wished I’d known I’d be going to a party—I probably would have dressed myself differently. I definitely would have opted for pants—It got to be a little chilly as a smoker once the sun set. But it was far too late for that now.   
Go with the flow, I guess.  
The horrifying sound of humans floated down the street and hugged my nerves tightly. I took a deep breath to steady my heart palpitations. Tyler, probably sensing my heightened discomfort, linked his arm with mine as we walked.  
Like something out of a movie, there was red velvet rope lining the way to the entrance. The whole thing was nauseatingly grandeur for my taste. I would have been far happier at home on my couch, a bottle of beer in hand and some classic horror movie on the television.   
Tyler dragged me onward, despite my heels digging into the concrete below. As we neared the entrance, a mammoth of a human towered over us, standing watch over the door.   
I felt very small in that moment.  
I would have turned around right then if it hadn’t been for Tyler’s grip on my arm. Maybe that’s why he’d linked it in the first place; I was a flight risk.  
“Name?” the burly man asked through grit teeth.  
I thought I might throw up so I didn’t dare open my mouth. No way was I willing to test the universe—it would have been a messy failure.   
“Tyler Brody and Blair Peterson,” Ty answered for me.  
The man flipped through a couple of pages clipped to a board in his palm, his face serious and unflinching.  
“The Rev—err—Jimmy Sullivan said he’d put us on the list,” Tyler tried nervously.  
The man peered up at us for a quick second. He examined Tyler without interest before moving to me. And just like that, his face lightened a little. Dare I say, he nearly smiled.   
“I know you,” he said to me. “You have a killer voice.”  
My face flushed red and my stomach turned, “Th-Thanks.”  
“You guys can head in,” he informed us, stepping aside to let us pass.   
And so, we did.  
I followed Tyler up what felt like a thousand sets of stairs until we finally reached the top. The room was wide open, engulfed in a sea of human beings. Red lights hung like cheap chandeliers from the ceiling that hung high overhead. The place was dingy and dark—And I was uneasy as fuck. At the very least, however, the place was coated in a film of smoke. Everywhere I looked, someone had a cigarette dangling from their lips.   
Tables laced the outsides of the giant room and were noticeably overflowing. It struck me then that there was a very good possibility that we’d be stuck standing all night long. That was a real shame. My feet were already killing me. My earlier buzz had already worn itself almost completely off. Sobriety was knocking and I wasn’t keen to let it in.   
I grabbed for my cigarettes instinctively.  
“You’re fine,” Tyler said, leaning into my ear to combat the music.  
I nodded, lighting my cigarette with shaking hands.   
“Let’s go look around,” Ty suggested loudly, pulling me to the side.   
We walked along the wall, passing endless tables upon tables. People hardly seemed to notice us at all—but with the sheer volume of humans in this space, it was hardly surprising. I kept my head low, focusing on the deep breathing exercise smoking forced me to practice.   
A hand grabbed the back of my arm suddenly—it gripped so tightly that I jumped with shock. I whipped around, fists clenched, ready to fight.  
Fight or flight: I always chose fight.   
Hey!” a familiar face met me, his lips curled up into a childish grin.  
Relief washed over me in an instant.   
I pulled at Tyler’s arm, still linked with mine, to get him to quit pulling me forward. Only then did I dare to pull my limb back from my best friend.   
Jimmy stood himself next to me, towering over me with his enormous height advantage. He leaned down to speak directly into my ear.  
“You guys made it!”  
I leaned back so he could see me nod. My nerves were making it difficult to speak still.  
But he only smiled, gesturing onward with a shake of his head, “Come on, come meet everyone!”  
Without warning, he replaced Tyler and linked his arm with mine. And then we were off. He pulled me forward, through the myriad of souls swarmed together in their individual hives, until we finally hit our final destination. Jimmy positioned us at the very end of the table, lingering along the wooden edge like a gargoyle atop stone.   
“Roll call!” Jimmy shouted, impressively cutting through the noise. “This here is Matt,” he pointed around the table accordingly. “Johnny, Alex, and some girl that seems to have attached herself to this table.”  
Everyone, except the girl, waved pathetically in my general direction.  
Tyler was in his glory.  
“Care to join us?” the one that had been pegged as Matt called to us.  
I pulled on my cigarette, “If you don’t mind, I’m fucking dying to get off my feet.”  
He laughed, revealing a dimpled smile as he did, and gestured for us to sit. Everyone scooched down to make room for the two newcomers.   
“This is Blair,” Jimmy informed his friend as he sunk into the seat next to me. “The chick I was telling you about.”  
Matt smirked, “Oh yeah, telling me all about. It’s nice to meet you, Blair. I like your shit. Your voice is fucking awesome.”  
“Thank you,” I blushed, feeling smaller and smaller by the second. “Yours too.”  
But the dimpled singer waved me off humbly.   
“This is Tyler,” I piped up, looking to my best friend as he sunk down into the seat on my other side.   
I was effectively a Blair sandwich. A drummer on one side, a guitarist on the other.   
“I’m a huge fan,” Tyler gushed shamelessly.  
Johnny smiled, “We appreciate that!”  
I watched as Tyler surveyed the table. His face fell into the most pathetic pout I’d ever seen.   
“What’s up, buttercup?” Jimmy asked, obviously apt in the art of reading people.  
“Nothing,” Tyler answered simply. “I just really hoped I’d get to meet Synyster Gates.”  
Jimmy grabbed his chest dramatically, “Ouch! You hear that, guys? We’re chopped liver next to Syn!”  
Matt and Johnny feigned great offence, devious grins creeping up over their fake frowns.   
“Sorry,” Jimmy laughed as Tyler obviously cringed. “We’re just fucking with you, dude. Syn is around here somewhere.”  
Tyler’s face lit up immediately—instigating a swift round of deep laughter from the other three members of Avenged Sevenfold. His face twitched a little; I could almost see the nerves swirling and bubbling with whispers of ugly lies as his demons sunk their teeth into his vulnerabilities.   
I rubbed at his arm affectionately, reassuring him that it was all in jest. But he smiled over at me, giving me the reassuring look I needed.   
“Let’s get drinks!” Jimmy announced then, slamming his fists against the wooden table. “Shadz, flag down that waitress!”  
I smashed my smoke into the ashtray and quickly lit another. It was the only thing I could think to do to keep from feeling small and unimportant while we waited for the waitress to notice my flailing-armed new friend.  
But once Jimmy had gotten Matt on the task, he’d replaced his flailing with resting. I was surprised as his arm snaked around my shoulders and came to lay there. No one else seemed to notice—or if they did, it didn’t strike them as odd. I assumed he was a naturally touchy kind of guy.  
I, however, had never been one to enjoy physical attention. Especially not from strangers.   
So, why then, didn’t I mind when Jimmy did it?   
But there was no time to dwell on such questions. There was panicking to do. There was anxiety to be had.   
The group continued on with their conversation, paying very little attention to me. Tyler folded himself into the mix with ease, just as he always did. Why hadn’t socialization ever come so easily to me like it had for him? Why couldn’t I ever just feel at peace with myself? You know, comfortable in my own skin?   
Why was I like this?   
One drink. One drink and we can go home.  
I took a long drag of my cigarette, faked a smile, and did my best to will the hands of time to push on faster.__


	5. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> xx

Chapter Five: Crossroads  
Unsurprisingly, Tyler had found a friend in Matt. They basically hadn’t stopped chatting since the first round of drinks were delivered—and then the second. But Tyler could make friends with nearly anyone if he tried; he was charismatic and charming. Until you really got to know him, anyway.   
While my best friend chatted the night away, Jimmy had been consistently making crazy eyes at me, sliding drink after drink in my direction with an expectant grin stapled to his mischievous face. I wasn’t one to argue when it came to consumption of alcohol, but I was keeping a mental running total of my tab with great displeasure. We weren’t exactly financially successful at that point so my bank account was already looking quite tired.  
I could practically hear it sighing each time I wrapped my fingers around another glass.  
“So, you’re a drummer,” I spoke as Jimmy slid yet another drink my way.  
Jimmy tried not to laugh, clearly caught off guard by the spontaneity of my brain, “Okay.”  
I felt instantly stupid.  
“You’re a good drummer,” I tried again, taking a harsh swallow of whiskey. “Like…really good.”  
“Thanks,” he almost blushed.   
That took me by surprise.   
He continued with a swing of his hand, “My left leg tries to bring me down but me and righty get through it.”  
I wasn’t sure if he was joking but I laughed anyway.  
“This is your singer, right?” I asked, gesturing to Matt with my thumb. “That’s M. Shadows?”  
“The one and only,” Jimmy nodded in agreement.  
“Your names are cute,” I winked. “Very rock and roll.”  
Jimmy scowled, “Metal.”  
“Right, right—sorry, they’re very metal,” I corrected with a smirk.  
He beamed with pride, “That was the goal. I think we’ve achieved it.”  
“In stride,” I chuckled. “So, who’s this guy then?”   
I gestured to the blonde man sat across from me that I was pretty sure Jimmy had introduced as Alex.  
“A straggler,” Jimmy shrugged sheepishly, tipping his drink back against his lips. “A leach.”  
I smiled as I gestured to Johnny with curiosity.   
“Bass,” Jimmy answered without my verbal asking. “Makes sense for you to not know the bassist.”  
Johnny must have caught this because he looked over at us, genuinely annoyed. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a beercap hurdling toward the drummer by my side. Jimmy snatched it from the air, grinning as he stuffed it into the pocket of his black jeans.   
“I collect shit the midget throws at me,” Jimmy informed me, leaning into my ear to better combat the ever-present noise. “Happens way more often than you’d think.”  
Somehow, this wasn’t hard to believe.  
I leaned back a little to better get a look at him, his impossibly blue eyes settled on me with intensity. My lips curved upward before I hid them behind the glimmering of my nearly emptied glass.  
“Maybe you should try being nicer to him,” I teased.   
But Jimmy scoffed, shaking his head profusely, “Absolutely not. That’s out of the fucking question.”  
Another cap came flying from the other side of the table; this one landing in Jimmy’s lap. He laughed loudly as he stuffed this one in his pocket to keep the other company.   
“What about you?” he quizzed as he set one hand on the tabletop, the other thumping rhythmically atop his thigh.  
His body was turned to face me now, seemingly engrossed in whatever it was I had to say. I wasn’t sure when, but at some point I’d also turned in my chair to face him. He was definitely the most interesting character at the table.  
“What about me, what?” I asked confusedly.   
“Who’s the Johnny of your band?” he rephrased. “Every band has one. You know, the dude that gets picked on by everybody else? Who is it?”  
My brow twitched a little with anxious discomfort.  
“Oh, uh—” I hesitated, nervously biting at my bottom lip. “That would be me.”  
Apparently this was not the answer Jimmy had anticipated. His spine straightened out noticeably. His head fell a little to one side as his eyes narrowed.  
“No way,” he decided aloud.   
I pursed my lips together, glancing around awkwardly before landing back on his perplexed face, “Yes.”  
“What the fuck?” he questioned, seemingly with great offense. “Why?”  
“I don’t know,” I lied. “That’s just how it’s always been. It’s kind of, uh—It’s kind of a long story, I guess.”  
Jimmy smiled coolly, “I’ve got time.”  
“This is hardly the time or place for such tales, Jimmy,” I informed him, trying my best to make light of the situation.  
It was hardly a light topic for me.  
“Time is fucking irrelevant, Blair,” he retorted. “I want to know—”  
Before he could finish his sentence, Tyler was interjecting.  
“Blair doesn’t know how to talk to people,” my friend spoke loudly.  
Apparently he’d been eavesdropping.  
“And people mistake that as her being some soulless bitch,” he continued, his words slurring. “Only one half of that is true though. Right, Blair?”  
I swallowed hard, biting my tongue—literally and metaphorically.   
“Blair’s not a bitch,” Jimmy replied, his voice laced with both offence and confusion.   
It was almost like he was asking a question but hadn’t committed to the uncertainty.  
“You don’t know her,” Tyler retorted with a half-laugh. “Take a poll of the people that do. Get back to me.”  
The words were nothing I hadn’t heard before. Sure, they’d been pitched before a new audience this time, but Tyler was hardly a surprise to me. Every time he’d get a few ounces of liquor in him, he’d turn into a real piece of work.   
I was his usual target.  
And just like every other time before, I sat there and quietly took it.  
It wasn’t like arguing would get me anywhere. It wouldn’t change anything.  
It never had. It never would.  
“You don’t seriously think that,” Jimmy insisted, his brows furrowed as his icy blues focused on my inebriated guitarist leaned around me.  
Tyler shrugged, “She’s my sister. I can call her a bitch if I want. She knows what I mean.”  
“Dude,” Jimmy scoffed.  
Sensing some strange tempers rising, I quickly piped up, “It’s really fine. He’s joking.”  
“I don’t think he is,” the drummer grunted.  
I leaned my entire body to block Tyler from Jimmy’s view. This wasn’t on my checklist for the night.   
Letting my voice fall to a level I was sure Tyler’s drunken ears couldn’t hear, I let my eyes plead with Jimmy’s, “He’s a dick when he’s drunk. It isn’t worth picking a fight over. It’s seriously fine…Okay?”  
Jimmy mulled this over for a second before reluctantly letting his clenched fists relax.   
“Okay.”  
Maybe chivalry wasn’t dead after all.  
I spent every day with men. My best friend was a man. My entire band—save for me—was made up of men.   
None of them had ever reacted to defend my proverbial honor. None of them had ever cared about the way people spoke to, or about, me. None of them had ever given two thoughts about it.  
But this stranger cared.   
My heartstrings tugged a little, nearly revving my deadened organ to life.  
“It’s probably time we got going anyway,” I breathed finally. “I’m exhausted and Tyler’s clearly had too much.”  
“Tyler has not,” Tyler argued from behind my back. “Can you not be a killjoy just once? We’re at a fucking party, Blair. Lighten the fuck up.”  
“A party I was invited to,” I reminded him with a hiss as I whipped around to glare daggers at him.  
He glared back, challenging me with ever inch of his being, “I’m not ready to go.”  
Stepping back into my previous mantra, I knew it wasn’t worth the argument. If I forced Tyler to leave now, I’d hear about it the entire way back to Anaheim—and for the next several weeks thereafter. I knew better than to get in the way of Tyler getting what he wanted.   
I walked a thin line of enabling and encouraging.   
“Fine,” I gave in, rolling my eyes at my best friend before turning back to the drummer.  
He was staring at me with the strangest look smeared across his handsome face. I could feel him trying to read me again.   
I didn’t like it.  
“Hey, is there anywhere to go to get some air?” I asked him quickly, desperate to escape—if only for a minute or two.   
He nodded his head to the back of the building slowly, his eyes still strip-searching my soul, “There’s a door to the left of the bar, it’ll take you upstairs.”  
“Thanks,” I forced a smile, clambering to my feet.   
Jimmy looked up at me, “Do you want me to come with you?”  
I wanted to say yes.  
I can’t really explain why…but I desperately wanted to say yes. His company was relaxing; his thoughts were interesting.   
But I knew what his thoughts were fixated on in the moment. I knew the kinds of questions that I’d be barraged with. They were the same questions I asked myself constantly.   
The questions I was always far too afraid to answer.  
“No, no,” I rushed. “I’ll be right back.”  
Before he could object, or agree, I was gone.   
The crowd was difficult to weave through, but I managed to get to the other side of the expansive building with little trouble. I patted my pockets to make sure I hadn’t lost my cigarettes in the sea of people—to my relief, they were still on board.  
Just as Jimmy had said, there was a big black door illuminated by the neon word I’d longed to see. The floor felt as if it were spinning slowly beneath my feet as I climbed the endless staircase.   
How much had I had to drink?  
Finally reaching the top after what felt like an eternity, I pushed through the door and was instantly greeted with the sweet relief of a California breeze.   
The rooftop was fairly populated beneath the deep blues of the evening sky. A mahogany bar sat in the northeast corner; patio lights were strung up everywhere.   
Even with my obvious anxieties, I could appreciate how cool this place was. Setting a cigarette between my lips and lighting it with haste, I set off for the bar. The lines up on the roof were far less excessive than those on the main floor. Not that I’d really had to worry about that; Jimmy had made sure I always had a drink in my hand.   
Opting for water over alcohol, I swiped a bottle from the bartender and immediately let it flush out my system. Wiping at my lip with the back of my hand, my eyes began the search for an unoccupied table at which to rest my nerves.   
All I wanted was a few minutes to rest my feet, take in the cool night air, and let my thoughts simmer until there was nothing left of them.   
It was embarrassing the way Tyler would speak to me…especially in front of strangers. And, unfortunately for me, I found myself caring what Jimmy thought about me. Leave it to Tyler to step in and try and tarnish the impression I’d been working at.   
Before my frustration could bubble over, I was pulled from my thoughts.   
Just over yonder, a table of two got up to vacate their seats—I wasted no time snatching the table up for myself.   
Then, and only then, could I bring myself to take a deep breath.  
And let it go.  
I took a long haul on my cigarette, closed my eyes, and tried to imagine I was somewhere else—somewhere quiet and alone.  
It wasn’t working.  
I let my head fall into my arms on the tabletop. My hand instinctively moved the cigarette away from my hair—that was all I needed, to catch my mane on fire. The amount of chemicals I’d invested into my hair over the years would surely act as kindling given the opportunity.  
 _I should have gone home._  
I was, in that moment, decidedly a killjoy. Just as Tyler had said.  
But, I supposed, the only joy I was killing was my own. And there was no one around to see it. There was no one else invited to this particular pity party.   
It was only me.   
Just as it always was.   
_I should have fucking gone home._


	6. Sinister Sulk

Chapter Five: Sinister Sulk  
I’d been buried in my prison of hair for only a few minutes, doing my best to clean my mental pallet and rally some sort of commitment to this party that was swiftly growing old. There was only so much of anything I could take at once—and I’d more than hit my limit on the whole social interaction thing. Throw a little Tyler being a proper douche on top of it and, well, stick a fork in me. I was done.  
And then, in the midst of my blueprint for escape, a voice cut through the static.   
“Are you okay?” it asked me.  
I considered ignoring it; if I refused to lift my head, he might just go away. However, the odds were probably greater that if I refused to lift my head, the stranger might touch me in an effort to ensure I was still breathing.  
If I could go without being touched, I might survive the night.  
So, with great reluctance, I pulled my head back onto my shoulders.  
“I’m fine,” I groaned, darting my eyes up to meet with the man who had disturbed my rest.  
I was met with deep doe eyes staring back at me, his face riddled with confusion.   
His brows were housed high on his forehead, “Yeah, you look it.”  
“I’m fine,” I said again, slightly irritate. “It’s just—really fucking loud here.”  
“Yeah, it’s a party,” he scoffed. “They’re not usually quiet.”  
I raised a single brow.   
What a dick.   
“Thank you for filling me in,” I retorted sarcastically. “I wasn’t sure if this was, in fact, a party—but now that you’ve confirmed it, I’ll be sure to make a note in my diary tonight.”  
“Dear Diary, today a stranger at a party was a total dick to me,” he said with a smirk.  
I nodded, glancing around as if to suggest he could go bother someone else at any point—I would not mind one bit.   
“Nailed it,” I concurred coldly.   
He laughed, “Anyone ever told you that you’re kind of broody?”   
With a deliberate sigh, I pursed my lips and gave my head a dramatic shake, “No, never.”  
“Glad I could confirm that for you, too,” he joked, gesturing then to the empty seat opposite mine. “Mind if I join you? Every table up here is full. I promise I’ll be quiet.”  
I shrugged.  
Truth me told, I did mind. I’d come up here to escape small talk and crowded conversation. The last thing I wanted was some rude stranger nibbling at my ear with his sarcasm. However, it wasn’t like I owned the damn place. Who was I to tell someone they couldn’t take up residence in an empty chair?   
The shrug was the best I could do.   
He seemingly took this as permission, I guess, because he seated himself across from me with a thud. He pushed his dark hair away from his face, a piece that wasn’t perfectly spiked out from his head, anyway. His dark eyes met mine once more, this time with a hint more intrigue than before.   
When I didn’t immediately strike up some strange joust of words, he began glancing around impatiently, his lips pursed but entertained. He twiddled his thumbs atop the table.   
I glanced up at him periodically, pretending I was looking just past him. He’d promised he’d be quiet; I was going to hold him to it.   
I took one last drag of my cigarettes before smashing it into the ashtray.  
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Permission to speak?”  
With narrowed eyes, I sighed, “Granted.”  
“Do you think I could bum one of those?” he pointed to my dead cigarette. “I left my pack downstairs.”  
I tossed my open pack onto the table, “Sure, go nuts.”   
He looked at the pack and then at me, “Marlboro? Good choice.”  
“It’s the only good brand,” I shrugged. “If they’re good enough for Carrie Bradshaw, they’re good enough for me.”  
“Carrie Bradshaw?” he asked, signaling to me that he was still in need of a lighter.  
I obliged him and couldn’t help but stare as the flame lit up his perfectly sculpted jaw, I shook the image away.  
“Uh, yeah. Sex and the City.”  
“Right,” he said with a chest full of smoke, his voice strangled with the toxins.   
“Ever seen it?” I asked like the fucking awkward twat that I was.  
“No,” he smiled, breathing the nicotine out through his nostrils. “Should I have?”  
I shook my head, “No.”  
“Glad we cleared that up,” he grinned.  
I swiftly began internally pummeling myself. This was, without a doubt, one of the biggest reasons I’d fluttered through life without many friends. Well, I mean—There were a whole list of other reasons beyond that too…But this was the one I could take responsibility for. I never knew what to say. I was never sure how to act.   
What came naturally to others was a constant struggle for me. I could never quite articulate myself the way I longed to.   
Jimmy, though, had been an exception to this socially awkward rule. For whatever reason, words came easily around the giant. He pulled a careless sort of spirit from within my bones.   
This guy didn’t have quite the same charm on my anxiety.   
“I am normally this awkward,” I informed him lightly.   
“You’re alright,” he winked lazily, taking another puff of the cigarette.  
Once more, I had absolutely no idea how to react. So, I nodded my head quietly.   
Grade A conversationalist, I know.   
“My name’s Brian by the way,” he extended his hand to me. “Figure I should at least give you my name since you so kindly gave me your cigarettes.”  
“I gave you one cigarette,” I corrected as I snatched my pack back. “Don’t be greedy.”  
He smiled. 

I did not.   
All I could do was look at him helplessly; he was staring at me expectantly. Was I missing something? Was there something on my face?   
My brows fell a tad, and I could feel anxiety tugging on my lapel again.  
“What?” I asked finally, overcome with the discomfort his gaze offered.   
“Is your name a secret?” he half-laughed. “Do I have to guess it?”  
“Yes,” I said weakly, giving my best impression of charming. “If you can get it on the first try, I’ll forfeit my pack to you.”  
“Oh,” he cooed, his eyes glimmered, “A challenge. I’m always up for a fucking challenge.”  
I tried to look confident. My disgusting lip-biting habit was probably giving my anxiousness away. So, I sat up straighter and wiggled my eyebrows a couple times. If I couldn’t be sexy, I could be witty. I was born witty. I was molded by wit. I could do this.  
Long live the wit.   
“Let’s have it, Brian,” I put a serious emphasis on his name both for dramatic effect.   
He paused, surveying me for longer than necessary. His eyes travelled along my jawline, scanned the sea of tattoos swimming atop my arms, and then back up to the green hues of my eyes. He took a long, exaggerated haul on the cigarette pursed between his lips, which were now sprawled out into an arrogant kind of grin.   
“Hmm,” he hummed finally. “Jessica…No, you don’t look like a Jessica. You look like your name is unique, but not too unique.”  
I maintained my poker face.  
“Brooke,” he started again, keeping his dark eyes locked on mine. “No, that’s not right either.”  
“You’re not going to get it,” I challenged.  
I’d only met one other Blair in my entire life and it had been a thirty year old man that sold me my mattress. My biggest claim to fame, name-wise, was that damn movie about the filmmakers that got lost in the forest. It had been years since the film came out and I was still trying to live down Tyler’s affectionate nickname, B Dubs—or, when I was in trouble, I was affectionately known as the entirety of the Blair Witch.   
I hated it.  
But I owned it.  
He obliged me, pushing himself part-way across the table and closer to me, he grinned—I nearly fainted. This guy was as ballsy as he was chatty.   
I tried not to flinch but I was terrified as he moved closer.  
He was leaning across the table, close enough that I could pick out the light flecks in his eyes. I was drowning in his scent—and also in the second-hand smoke.  
Finally, he grinned, parting his lips only slightly as he let the name roll off his tongue, “Blair.”  
With that, he slumped back to his side of the table like the whole exchange was a figment of my imagination.  
Was it?  
I stared at him blankly.   
“How the fuck—“  
He let out a hearty laugh, “You’re the singer of Haven, aren’t you?”  
I still had not gotten used to people knowing who our band was—or who I was.  
Admittedly, I felt a little ridiculous for not seeing that coming. My premonition skills clearly needed work. I was, as it were, not a witch in all actuality. What a fucking shame.   
I hesitated, shifting my weight in my chair uncomfortably, “Oh—Yeah. Fuck.”  
He raised his eyebrows at me and extended his palm across the table, “Cough ‘em up.”  
“Can I at least take one first?” I bargained. “It would help ease the pain of my loss.”  
He nodded, “I guess it’s the least I can do.”  
I slid a cigarette from my pack before reluctantly sliding the remainders across the table to Brian. He chucked the lit cigarette into the ashtray to make friends with mine.  
I lit my newest cigarette with a sigh, making it clear that I was not pleased with my loss.   
“So, you’ve heard of my band, huh?” I mused absently.  
He sipped at his drink for the first time since he sat down, “Yeah, of course. You guys are the new ‘thing’.”  
“Thing?” I scoffed. “I don’t know about that.”  
“It’s true,” he shrugged. “I dig your music; the guitar is great.”  
“Thanks,” I replied quietly, eternally embarrassed by kudos.   
“Vocals are so-so,” he smirked.  
This caught me entirely off guard.   
I laughed, choking on the smoke swirling in my lungs, “Dude!”  
He chuckled, a smile lingering along his face, “Just joking. You have a killer voice.”  
“Thanks,” I repeated, this time much lighter than before.   
He winked again before moving along, “So, what brings you to the roof anyway? Everyone inside bore you?”  
I shook my head, “No, no. If anything, they’re too entertaining. I don’t—Uh, I don’t do well in crowds.”  
“How is that?” he asked whimsically. “You guys play to some big crowds, no?”  
“Yeah,” I paused. “It’s different…I don’t know.”  
He patted my hand with his, “I’m just giving you a hard time. I get it.”  
“Oh,” I forced a smile. “I’m incredibly socially awkward. Being on stage is totally different—I’m someone else when I’m on stage.”  
“I get that too,” he beamed, pulling his hand back to his respective side of the table.  
“Are you a musician too?” I asked curiously.  
In retrospect, I’m really stupid.  
He shrugged, “I dabble.”  
I figured he was a session musician.  
“What do you play?” I continued my train of misplaced curiosity.  
He answered happily, “Guitar mostly.”  
I nodded like that meant anything to me, “That’s cool. Are you any good?”  
“No,” he laughed. “No, not at all.”  
“Me neither,” I smiled.  
He glanced toward the door that led downstairs and then back at me. I knew what that meant without him saying a word.   
And, sure enough, the words came mere seconds later.   
“I should probably go find my friends,” he informed me with a slight sigh. “Did you want to come in with me? They’re an interesting group; could keep you distracted from the rest of the crowd.”  
A small part of me considered his offer. However, it wasn’t in my plans to skip off with this particular stranger. I’d promised Jimmy I’d be back—and I knew if I disappeared on Tyler, I’d never hear the end of it.  
I needed more time to myself. I needed to regroup.   
“No, you go ahead,” I waved. “Maybe I’ll catch up with you inside later.”  
He pulled himself to his feet, “I hope you do. I’m keeping these as collateral,” he held up my former pack of cigarettes. “Maybe I’ll give them back—if you ask nicely.”  
“I don’t do anything nicely,” I retorted with a laugh.  
He smirked, “My kind of girl.”  
And with that, he offered up a sheepish wave and was gone.   
I didn’t give him a second thought. The instant he was gone, my head was dropped back into its prison within my arms.   
I stayed this way until well after my cigarette had burned itself away. Eventually, though, I had managed to regain my sanity just enough to sit up, finish my drink, and find the determination to head back inside.   
The mere idea of strolling back into the chaos that was this party was enough to make me want to step up onto the rooftop walls—and then step off.   
But, if I ever wanted to get out, I’d have to push through. With a loud groan, I finally climbed to my feet and forced my way back downstairs into the doom.   
I didn’t think it was possible, but the crowd had grown in my short absence. Where once was space along the walls, was now filled to the brim with drunken antics. People were laced seamlessly with each other, scattered motherfucking everywhere.  
Deep breath. Another deep breath.   
I started on the west wall, trying to pinpoint exactly where it was that I’d left Tyler and Jimmy. They were in a booth somewhere, but unfortunately, from where I stood, it was impossible to see inside any of them. I started pacing back and forth through the rows of tables and chairs in every effort to find them. With every single unfamiliar face, my anxiety climbed higher and higher until finally, I was sure I was on the verge of some heart attack/aneurysm combination.   
Finally, by some divine intervention, I caught a glimpse of the giant I’d been searching for. I set my sights on the target and pushed forward until I landed at his side. I’d decided on my journey that I wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was time to go, whether Tyler liked it or not.   
“Blair!” Jimmy shrieked once he’d caught sight of me. “We thought you were dead! We’ve been here planning your funeral in your absence! How do you feel about lilies?”  
“What?” I stammered, half-listening to him and half-searching the table for my best friend.  
He was nowhere to be seen.   
“Lilies,” Jimmy repeated seriously. “We’re thinking one hundred lilies. You know, for your funeral.”  
I looked up at him, feeling a little calmer as his blues washed over me, “Lilies are fine.”  
Jimmy cheered as he turned to the group huddled at the table, “Guys! She said lilies are fine! So, it’s a go on the florals.”  
I rolled my eyes, with a laugh, mumbling something about how ridiculous Jimmy was when a figure caught my attention from the corner of my eye. He was sitting across from where I’d been before my great departure, staring up at me warmly.   
Brian looked real smug in that moment as he smirked over at me, “Found me, I see.”  
“Accidentally,” I retorted. “I was actually—”  
“Looking for me,” Jimmy finished for me, loudly interrupting.   
“No,” I groaned. “Well, yeah. But, no. I was just coming to get Tyler so we could get going.”   
“Wait, what?” Jimmy gasped. “No, you can’t go! If you don’t like Syn here, we can remove him. I know a guy.”  
“It’s not that—” I started but stopped, my face wrinkled up with confusion. “Wait, Syn?”   
Jimmy nodded, gesturing to the brunette at the table.   
I stared over at Brian, “I thought you said your name was Brian.”  
“It is,” he grinned. “But it’s Syn too.”  
I scratched at my head, “What the fuck are you talking about?”  
I blame the day’s events mixed with entirely too much to drink for my lack of cohesive thinking ability.   
Jimmy pulled me in with his long arm, “Don’t worry, Blair. His split personality confuses us too.”  
“I don’t get it,” I stated pathetically.   
“Synyster Gates,” Brian laughed. “My stage name.”  
And then the pieces fell into place. This was the guy Tyler had been idolizing all this time. This was the guy I’d heard so damn much about, mostly against my will.   
“You’re fucking Synyster Gates?” I asked finally, feeling flooding back into my fingertips.   
I then realized how very stupid I must have sounded outside; asking him if he was a damn musician. There would be no pretending I knew anything about him following that. I’d outed myself as not being a fan without even trying.   
Brian nodded, looking smug as hell.   
I scowled, “You said you’re not even good at the guitar!”  
“He isn’t,” Jimmy cackled; the entire table following suit.   
“Are you going to sit down or what?” Brian asked then, his voice laced with amusement.   
I shook my head, “No…I really should get going.”  
“Don’t be lame,” Jimmy pouted down at me.   
But my eyes rolled without my consent.   
“Have you seen Tyler? The guy I came with?”  
The drummer hesitated, glancing around before landing back on me, “Yeah, he left ten minutes ago with some chick. Told me to tell you that he’d call you tomorrow.”  
I blinked a few times.  
I shouldn’t have been surprised, and I wasn’t, I suppose, but I was entirely aggravated. Classic Tyler to force me to stay beyond my limits but felt it was entirely reasonable to disappear when the mood struck him. He’d left me here alone.   
I’d never done that to him.   
I made a mental note to start.  
“Sit,” Jimmy instructed then, sensing my baffled frustration as he pushed me into the chair across from Brian—err—Synyster? He sat me next to whoever.   
He took up the chair beside me, patting the top of my head.  
“Good girl.”  
“Jimmy I’m not a dog,” I hissed playfully.  
But Jimmy only laughed.   
“So, let me get this straight,” I started then, turning my focus solely to Brian while Jimmy flagged down the waitress. “You are Synyster Gates.”  
“Right,” he nodded with a playful smile.  
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” I whined. “Now I feel stupid! I thought you were a session guitarist!”  
“What?” he laughed, taking a swig from his beer. “Why would you think that?”  
I shrugged, shaking my head, “I don’t know! You said you fucking ‘dabbled’ in music. You fucking lied, dude.”  
“Don’t give me shit for destroying a story you built up,” he chuckled.  
“But you lied,” I repeated sternly.   
He narrowed his eyes, “About what? My name is Brian. Next?”  
I had nothing.  
“So,” I tried again, “You’re Brian or Synyster Gates? What do I call you?”  
He raised his eyebrows, “You can call me whatever you want, baby.”  
My brows furrowed, “An asshole then.”   
He snickered, nodding his head subtly, “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”  
I was about to inform that it was certainly not going to be the last time he heard it either when he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and set them on the table.   
“My smokes!” I exclaimed excitedly.  
He tilted his head slightly, guarding the pack with a firm hand, “I believe you mean my smokes.”  
“Yeah, can we get a round of shots?” Jimmy interrupted as the waitress announced herself to the table. “I don’t care what as long as it’s strong. You know what, just send a bottle of whatever over here. And a couple dozen shot glasses—you know, for research purposes.”  
“Jimmy, we don’t need a fucking bottle,” Matt interjected, pulling himself from his own sidebar conversation.  
Jimmy grinned, “Sure we do! A bottle of Petrone, my fine lady!”  
“Jimmy, we don’t need a bottle of fucking Petrone!” Matt argued again.  
“A bottle of Petrone,” he said again to the waitress, more seriously this time. “Off you go.”  
“Research of what?” Johnny asked once the waitress had disappeared.  
Jimmy cackled, “How much tequila it takes to give Syn alcohol poisoning.”  
Brian didn’t seem to notice this exchange at all—he seemed to only notice me.  
“So, what are you going to do to earn back these cigarettes, huh?” he asked me suddenly, breaking my fascination with Jimmy’s antics.   
He pulled a cigarette from the pack and placed it firmly between his lips. His eyes were unwavering in their contact as he teased me with my addiction.   
“Don’t make the poor girl work,” Jimmy scolded Brian.   
Brian relented, laughing a little as he held a lit cigarette out to me, “Fine. We can share.”  
“Or you could give me back my pack,” I argued firmly.   
But Brian only scoffed, “Where’s the fun in that?”  
I shrugged, “Seems like a good time to me.”  
“I told you,” he sneered, “You have to earn them back.”  
“Earn them how?” I bit.  
He shrugged, “Get creative, Haven chick.”  
I snatched the cigarette from him and took a much needed drag, “Don’t call me that.”  
The waitress appeared again with the bottle Petrone Jimmy had insisted on—and a dozen tiny shot glasses. They shimmered in the neon lights and I could already taste the hangover.  
Jimmy thanked her with a wink before shooing her away.  
“How about a race,” Brian offered up expectantly.   
“A race?” I quizzed. “A race where?”  
“To oblivion,” he laughed.  
“Hey! Hey! Do I hear a challenge brewing?” Jimmy interrupted with great excitement. “I want in!”  
“You don’t even know what they’re doing,” Johnny groaned at his friend.  
“I don’t care!” Jimmy grinned. “I want in!”  
“Here’s the deal,” Brian started, sorting the shot glasses into rows in the middle of him, me, and Jimmy. “First one to finish six shots wins.”  
“Do you want me to die?” I choked. “I’m like two feet tall!”  
Brian fake pouted at me, “Aw, is someone afraid of losing?”  
“Losing? No,” I protested. “Dying? A little.”  
“Someone’s afraid of a challenge,” Brian announced, setting his eyes on Jimmy.   
Jimmy laughed, nudging at my arm with his elbow, “If you can’t keep up with the big boys, Blair, we can get you a juicebox or some shit.”  
“Oh, fuck you,” I scoffed playfully. “I will drink you two under the god damn table.”  
This seemed to amuse Jimmy. His eyes twinkled as his nose scrunched at me.  
“Prove it, dude.”  
“Okay,” I breathed, letting the smoke spill out from my lungs. “Pour the fucking shots.”  
Brian grinned deviously, “Rev, the honour is yours.”  
Jimmy looked like a child on Christmas as he filled the shot glasses sloppily, seemingly not noticing the pool of wasted tequila he’d created all around them. I felt sorry for whoever was going to have to clean this table later. It was already covered in lord knows what and would surely be splattered with my vomit before the night’s end.  
Once all eighteen shot glasses were full, Jimmy readied himself before his own six.  
“Shadows, count us down!” Jimmy demanded, his eyes gleaming with excitement and intoxication.  
Matt obliged, “Alcohol poisoning in 3, 2, 1… Drink!”  
What few knew about me was that not only was I a bad ass bitch, but I could drink like a fish. I’d never done well with the whole ‘self control’ thing. When I developed a taste for it, I’d fall into the rabbit hole hard. Alcohol was my calling; which meant that I had to develop a tolerance and fast.  
I tossed back shot after shot, leaving Jimmy and Brian in my dust with ease. My stomach turned as each ounce flushed down my system—there was no time for chasing, no time for breathing. I was in competition mode and would reign supreme.  
No way was I going to let some guys I barely knew waiver my confidence in my drinking capabilities. They didn’t know who they were messing with.   
“Done!” I shouted proudly, slamming my sixth empty shot glass onto the sticky table.   
Brian looked to me in amazement. Jimmy looked pissed.  
“I only finished four,” Jimmy pouted, folding his arms across his chest. “This is fucking bullshit.”  
“I almost had you,” Brian said to me, flirtation twinkling in his dark eyes.  
I grinned, “Almost—but not quite.”  
With that, I snatched my cigarette pack back from the guitarist and lit one immediately.  
“Seems like you guys met your match,” Matt called from across the table.  
Brian smirked, giving me a proper nod before turning his attention elsewhere. Jimmy, however, wrapped an arm around me.   
“This is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he slurred at me. “I can feel it.”  
I looked up at him, the room spinning a little, “Only if you learn to drink. I’ll teach you.”  
“You’re a shit,” he cackled, squeezing me for a second before releasing his grip. “I like it.”  
And with that, Jimmy poured another round of shots for he and I.   
I knew then that I was in trouble.   
I’d found someone just as indulgent as I was.   
I forgot all about Tyler’s abandonment.


	7. BP

Chapter Seven: BP  
“Man!” Jimmy shrieked at the top of his lungs, spinning around with his arms spread out like he might take flight, “I’m fucking wasted!”  
It was late. So late that I feared the sun might start poking its head out from the other side of the world.   
“I—Jimmy—” I slurred, struggling to stay upright. “Jimmy, I think I’m drunk.”  
We were making our way down the street and away from the party—which was essentially being broken up anyway. The streetlights were on, offering up their glimmer to guide us wherever it was we were headed.   
We didn’t know where exactly that was.   
“Where are we going?” I hiccupped, trying to keep my eyes open.  
“Home,” Brian laughed, his steps far more steady than mine or Jimmy’s.   
“No!” I shouted with great offence. “I don’t want to go home! Let’s go somewhere fun!”  
“Yeah!” Jimmy shrieked in agreement. “What the lady said!”  
But Brian was yawning, “Dude, you need to go to fucking bed! It’s four in the damn morning!”  
“You’ve got one last chance to die!” Jimmy declared nonsensically.   
But it made sense to me at the time.  
“Fuck yeah!” I agreed excitedly. “Jimmy gets it!”  
Brian started saying something, I’m not sure what it was—because as his voice fluttered along the breeze, my feet fluttered into one another.   
And I went down.   
With absolutely no grace at all, I plummeted to my death in the street.  
I laid there for a while, limbs spread out at all angles—I couldn’t stop laughing.  
The sky spun above me like a galactic kaleidoscope.   
I could hear Jimmy’s cackles nearing me as I laid there like a helpless damsel.   
“Help,” I managed finally, feeling like a turtle stuck on its back.  
Jimmy’s face appeared, hovering over me to eclipse the moon hanging overhead. I smiled up at him.  
“You alright?” he asked amusedly as he scooped me up from the pavement.   
“I’m good,” I assured him, still unable to stop my laughter. “I’m good.”  
Brian shook his head at the two of us, “You guys should have stopped on the tequila.”  
We both scowled in unison.  
“How much did you guys drink?” Brian laughed, his eyes wide as Jimmy and I leaned on each other for support.  
There was nothing like copious amounts of liquor to get you well acquainted with new people.   
“Only this much,” I held my fingers out to him and made just a tiny space between them. “That much.”  
Jimmy was probably the only one that had been on my level all night. Everyone else had flitted in and out of our conversation. But Jimmy and I were on a mission to chase the drunk we’d had throughout the day—we didn’t waste a single drop of that Petrone.   
By time the lights had come on and people were being shepherded through the exit, Jimmy and I were like long-lost friends.   
“Honestly?” Jimmy added, his eyes narrowed with concentration. “I could use some more.”  
“Same!” I concurred with a gasp.   
But Brian was clearly not on par with us.  
“You guys are going to fucking die tonight.”  
“No way, dude,” Jimmy insisted with a wave. “What do you say, Blair? Want to go find more tequila?”  
Before I could answer, Brian had interrupted.  
“Jimbo, we should really get you home, man.”  
I got the sense that this was a conversation they’d had more often than this one particular instance. Brian had a hesitation to him that reminded me a lot of the way Tyler was when I’d been out all night.   
Jimmy scowled, “I want to go to her home.”  
“You have your own home to go to,” Brian informed his friend, with far more irritation than I could understand a reason for.  
Jimmy shrugged, “Sure, I do. I want to go to Blair’s though.”  
“I don’t have tequila,” I thought aloud. “I do have whiskey though!”  
“Fuck yes,” Jimmy grinned from ear to ear. “We’re going to Blair’s for whiskey.”  
“And pizza,” I added seriously.  
Jimmy’s eyes widened, “And pizza.”  
But Brian sighed, “I’m going home.”  
“You’re such a fucking party fowl,” Jimmy informed the guitarist.   
But that did nothing to sway Brian’s decision. He lingered back with us long enough to make sure Jimmy and I made it safely into the back of a cab—but he did not join the ride. I wasn’t sure where Brian’s home was but Jimmy and I were headed for Anaheim.   
The ride was fairly quiet, Jimmy occasionally making jokes about nothing to fill the time. I was doing my best not to pass out against the window. The tequila was beating the shit out of me.   
Eventually, we ended up at my apartment complex. I was relieved when Jimmy leaned forward and handed over a couple of bills to our driver. We climbed out of the car clumsily, Jimmy linking his arm with mine as I led him into my building and into the stairwell.   
We climbed five flights of stairs—Jimmy had to stop for a quick break—before we reached it: apartment 53.  
“That was too many stairs,” Jimmy groaned as I slid the key into the lock of my door.  
I groaned an understanding disdain for the endless stairs, ushering the drummer into my cramped one bedroom apartment before locking the door behind us. Jimmy had wasted no time scurrying inside and making himself at home.   
“Your apartment is cool,” Jimmy grinned, admiring my black walls.  
My landlord had nearly lost his mind when he’d come in to fix the air conditioner one day and had found I’d painted all of my walls black. Poor guy.  
Definitely would not be getting my security deposit back whenever I left this place.   
“Thanks,” I replied happily, plopping myself down onto my grey fabric couch.  
Jimmy flopped down next to me, “We need pizza.”  
“We do,” I agreed instantly.   
Food was exactly the thing I needed.   
So, I leaned over the arm of my couch to steal the cordless phone from its base. I dialled the only 24-hour pizza joint that I knew. They’d never failed me on any previous drunken night.  
“You like the Beatles?” he asked, admiring the yellow submarine collectables I’d carefully placed on shelves hanging above my television.   
I nodded, “Who doesn’t like the Beatles?”  
This response seemed to please him.   
The pizza man picked up, jotting down my information as I offered up my address and one very jumbled request for a pizza.  
“What do we want on it?” I asked, covering the microphone piece of the phone.  
“Meat,” Jimmy groaned, rubbing his stomach. “All of the meat.”  
I nodded, repeating this instruction to the man on the phone, my face fixed with focus, “Meat. We want meat on it.”  
Jimmy erupted into a chorus of drunken laughter—I shushed him with my hand, trying not to laugh.  
“I am serious,” I protested into the phone. “I don’t care what meat. Just put meat on it, dude.”  
He hung up on me—I hoped that didn’t mean we weren’t getting pizza.  
I put the phone back onto its charger in defeat, “That guy hates me.”  
“He’s a fucker,” Jimmy growled. “Call him back, I’ll tell him he’s a little bitch!”  
“No, no,” I snickered, swatting Jimmy’s hand away as his entire body came crashing down against my side. “Jimmy, we’re not calling him back!”  
“What if that fucker doesn’t send the pizza?” he asked me seriously, still trying to snatch the phone from the table.  
I shushed him, “He’ll send the pizza. He’ll send the pizza with the meat.”  
Jimmy looked down at me, presumably finally realizing how much of my personal space he’d compromised. It was then that I was first able to find all the small ripples and waves in his oceanic eyes. They were intoxicating—like the tequila.   
We stared at each other strangely for a second before Jimmy slowly backed away.   
I was feeling—strange.   
I couldn’t quite place it.   
But before I could give it too much thought, Jimmy’s voice pulled me back.   
“Oh! Records!” he declared abruptly, racing from his place on the couch to my giant glass cabinet filled with my favourite music.  
I’d inherited most of my vintage albums but had been steadily working on the collection for years. I owned everything from Arctic Monkeys to Heart to Eminem to Zeppelin. I was quite proud of my collection.  
“Can I put this on?” Jimmy asked, holding a record up by his face.  
I was too drunk to make out what it was he was holding, so I blindly gave my permission.  
Before long, the stereo crackled and pop and music flooded my apartment. Jimmy continued perusing my alphabetized collection before stopping abruptly. His jaw dropped a little as he spun around, clutching my favourite album in his hands.  
“Why do you have this?” he demanded, beating his eyes against me from across the room.  
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  
“That’s my favourite album, dude,” I replied awkwardly. “Why wouldn’t I have it?”  
“Are you secretly my twin or some shit?” he laughed oddly, diverting his focus back to the album. “I only know a handful of people that actually know who Mr. Bungle is.”  
I caught this with a knowing offence, “People are fucking stupid. Anything with Mike Patton is fucking gospel as far as I’m concerned.”  
“Right?” Jimmy gasped. “I’m putting this shit on.”  
And with that, the giant swapped out the record. As Sweet Charity came bursting through the speakers, Jimmy took up his spot next to me once more.  
“A chick that likes Mike Patton,” he mused with a smirk. “Are you an angel, Blair?”  
“A demon maybe,” I shrugged. “Thank fuck you like this shit. No one ever lets me listen to it—I shouldn’t say that. Tyler’s really the only person I ever have over here.”  
Jimmy listened intently, “What’s the deal with you and that dude anyway? Is he your boyfriend or something?”  
This made my stomach turn.  
“Fuck no,” I gagged. “Just friends. He’s been like my brother since we were kids.”  
“Yeah?” he encouraged happily, turning to face me. “How’d you meet?”  
I thought back, pushing through the clouds of intoxication, “In school. I don’t know. I was, like, four. I don’t remember much about those years.”  
“Me neither,” Jimmy laughed. “That’s cool though. My bandmates are my best friends too!”  
I shook my head, “No, no. Don’t get confused, Jimmy. Tyler’s my only friend in the band.”  
He tilted his head like a puppy waiting for a treat.  
Sensing that was his way of asking for clarification, I obliged him, “I don’t exactly get along with the others. I’m pretty sure they’d be thrilled if I bailed on them one day.”  
Jimmy parted his lips to weigh in on this, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk about such heavy things. So, I jumped off the couch.  
“Drink?”   
He nodded, noticeably tucking his curiosity away, “Sure.”  
I dug the whiskey out from the cupboard where I always kept it hidden away. I didn’t have much in the way of mix, so it took longer than it should have to concoct us something that wouldn’t taste like literal sewage.   
When I returned, offering a glass to my guest, Jimmy didn’t even question the contents. He wrapped his long fingers around the cup and took a sip.   
“So, if you guys don’t get along, how’d you end up here?” he asked as I settled back into the cushions.   
“It was my plan to move to California,” I answered slowly. “Tyler kind of took it and ran with it…Turned it into some fucking band exodus.”  
Jimmy nodded slowly, furrowing his brows, “Can I say something?”  
I shrugged my shoulders, cringing at the drink as it slipped past my tastebuds.  
“Tyler seems like kind of a dick,” Jimmy stated.   
“You don’t know him,” I defended half-heartedly.  
The drummer pursed his lips, “True. But just from watching some of the shit tonight, I get the sense he can be kind of an asshole. He was a fucking dick to you, Blair. Is he always like that?”  
“Sometimes…I don’t know. I don’t think about it.”  
That was a lie.  
“You shouldn’t let people treat you like that,” Jimmy sighed, his eyes wandering my apartment. “You don’t deserve that.”  
“You don’t know me,” I informed him seriously. “You don’t know what I deserve.”  
He smiled faintly, “I’m really good at reading people. And I can tell you’re not a shitty person, Blair. Timid maybe.”  
I could think of nothing to do but stare at him.   
Jimmy exuded an otherworldly warmness without even trying.   
It was my turn to start trying to read him. Who exactly was this creature I’d invited into my home?   
I had never been in the habit of having company—what was the exception this time? What had made Jimmy such a clear invitation? What was it about him that had me so comfortable? Speaking to him for five minutes left you feeling like you’d known him your entire life.   
“But,” he continued with a bit of a sigh. “Timid people aren’t typically born that way. That shit is taught. It manifests itself in darkness. You know, anxiety and deep, deep fucking depression. Some of us carry it well and can pretend like it doesn’t exist…But deep down, we know it does. And so, we project it onto the world because that’s all we see.”  
His words hit me like a freight train. But I wasn’t about to let him know that.  
I was far too guarded for that level of vulnerability.   
So, I teased him, “Are you—Are you getting philosophical on me?”  
He half-laughed, “It’s the fucking tequila.”  
“You’re like Plato,” I smirked. “But better looking.”  
His eyes found me within a second, “Oh?”  
“I don’t actually know what Plato looked like,” I thought aloud. “I’m just throwing around a bold assumption.”  
This elicited a hearty laugh from him. He swallowed it down with a sip of the drink I’d made him.  
“Sometimes I don’t realize I’m talking,” Jimmy smirked. “Most people think I’m fucking insane.”  
I shook my head, “Nothing you said was insane to me. Actually, quite the opposite.”  
“Can I get that in writing?” he joked.  
But I was hardly one to let an opportunity pass me by. I stretched myself out to the coffee table, sifting through the scrapped pages of lyrics I was always leaving laying around, until I found something blank. In black ink, I scribbled out the most important thing I’d ever written. I just didn’t know it at the time.  
Jimmy read it aloud the second I’d handed it over, “Jimmy Sullivan is not insane.”  
“In writing,” I grinned.   
He laughed, adjusting to pull the wallet from his back pocket. He folded up the paper and stuffed it into one of the compartments before concealing the wallet once more.  
“I’m going to use the fuck out of this the next time Matt goes on about how out of my fucking tree I’ve fallen,” he told me with heavy amusement.   
“I’ll totally speak to your defence any time you need!”  
“I’m holding you to that, Blair Peterson.”  
I scowled, “Don’t use my full name, that’s so fucking weird.”  
“It isn’t!” he protested. “You just referred to me by my full name! In writing!”  
“That was so there’d be no debating which Jimmy wasn’t insane,” I argued playfully. “It wasn’t to remind you of your identity!”  
He smiled over at me, his eyes softening, “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your identity, Blair Peterson. Your name holds a lot of fucking weight, you know.”  
I rolled my eyes, “What, because I’m a singer in a band?”  
“No,” he said softly with a shake of his head. “Because it’s you. I’ve never met another Blair Peterson and I never will.”  
“God willing,” I teased.  
Truth be told, I cringed internally every single time someone would use my last name. It was an eternal reminder of things I’d rather forget. A name I couldn’t escape. A tie to my past that I couldn’t sever.   
I’d considered changing it once but quickly changed my mind. There were just as many reasons to keep it as there were to remove it. But that was a qualm for another day.  
“BP,” Jimmy said then.   
I looked at him strangely, “JS?”  
He grinned from ear to ear, “You’ll be BP to me from now on. I can’t promise I won’t accidentally call you by your full name ever again, but if you don’t like it, neither do I.”  
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked slowly, trying once more to size him up. “Are you genuinely just this nice of a human?”  
He shrugged his shoulders, “Depends. You haven’t given me a reason not to be nice. I like you, BP. I think you’re fucking interesting.”  
“Then prepare to be disappointed,” I snickered under my breath.   
“Not possible,” he insisted. “You’re a musician that loves Mike Patton and hates their name; those three things alone are shit I could talk about for hours—and I’m pretty sure there’s more to you than just that trivial bullshit.”  
“I’m an exhausted subject,” I diverted strategically. “What about you? Do you hate your name? We seem to agree about everything else so far.”  
He shook his head, “Nah. Well—I hate when people call me James. Fuck, it always makes me think I’m in shit. I can practically hear my mom’s voice nagging me every time someone calls me James.”  
“So, I should call you James every single chance I get is what you’re saying,” I grinned maniacally.   
He feigned great offence.  
“Only at your fucking peril, Blair Peterson.”  
I erupted into a drunken fit of laughter, nodding my head entirely too many times, “Well played, Jimmy. You are officially not James. Unless you’re in shit.”  
His smile lingered as we stared at each other for a moment.   
“Do you know who’s going to be in shit pretty soon?” he asked slowly.   
I hummed something of a response, “Hm?”  
“That fucking pizza dude! Where the fuck is our pizza?”   
I couldn’t help but laugh all over again, immediately falling into the same crazed outburst Jimmy through himself into.   
The pizza did eventually arrive.  
We talked the whole night through, devouring every last slice of our meaty pizza until only crumbs were left. He told me about his favourite albums and I told him about my favourite movies. He talked a little about his family and how they’d had a strained relationship for some of his life—but they’d since moved passed it.   
He was only slightly resentful.  
I told him about my first year of life in California and how difficult it had been; living in a car with my best friend for three months. Working dead-end bartending jobs to try and keep ourselves afloat. Finding my first apartment on the west coast, only to have Tyler kick me out less than a year later to make room for his girlfriend—who only lasted three months longer than my move-out date.   
But I’d fallen in love with my tiny apartment and had quickly made it my home.   
It was the only home I’d had that felt truly like my own since I could remember.   
We’d switched on a movie at some point, having drained another few drinks. Eventually, though, I’d fallen asleep to the glow of my television, my legs intertwined with Jimmy’s.   
I didn’t know it then, but he’d pulled a blanket from the back of my couch to drape over my body. And then he’d gotten comfortable and eventually let himself pass out too.  
It was the best sleep I’d had in years.


	8. What Defines You

Chapter Eight: What Defines You  
The sun bore through my windows, ripping my brain apart inside my skull. I groaned, tossing my arm over my head to shield my tired eyes.  
But my hand hit a structure. Startled, I jolted awake.  
I’d been sleeping with my head between Jimmy’s legs. It took me a moment to regain any form of memory; the previous night was one giant blur. He was fast asleep, unaware of my sudden wake.  
It went entirely against my character to invite strangers back to my place. Hell, there were people I’d known for years that had never seen the inside of my apartment. I was a perpetually private human and to share my space was typically unthinkable. I must have been remarkably wasted to even think inviting Jimmy back was a good idea.  
But I found myself smiling as I looked over at him, his icy blues tucked away behind tired lids. His black hair having fallen delicately across his brows during his sleep.   
It was the first time I remember consciously thinking about how handsome he was.   
But soon my eyes wandered, finding horror at every turn. Whatever we’d been up to the night prior, we’d made a damn mess in our wake. There were slices of pizza strewn around on my floor—an open box sat comfortably on my coffee table. My records lay in shuffled piles across the hardwood, emptied glasses scattered along every surface.   
My head was pounding. As if the hangover wasn’t ready to ruffle my feathers enough on its own, I now had a serious clean job to look forward to. Already frustrated with Past Blair, I rubbed at my temples to try and soothe the pain—it only made it angrier.  
I peeled Jimmy’s right leg off of me as gently as I could manage. He stirred but didn’t wake.  
With elf-like steps, I tip-toed to the bathroom, closing the door quietly. Immediately, I pounced on my medicine cabinet, searching desperately for something to soothe the throbbing in my skull.  
It was like experiencing my first ever hangover again. It was not a pleasant experience the first time around and I was absolutely not enjoying it the second go.   
How much had I had to drink?  
I lived a fairly past-faced lifestyle when it came to partying. I could binge like the best of them. But I had never—and I mean never—felt my body in such a state of disrepair. I had to question my confidence for a minute.   
Without hesitation, I threw back three tiny blue pills, washing them down with water from the tap. With drugs in my system and a relieved bladder, I found the nerve to step back out from my tiny bathroom.   
I pulled the door back open and crept into my bedroom, luckily only a few steps away; I peeked my head around the corner to find the drummer was still sleeping soundly.   
Stripping clean of last night’s shame, I got to work making myself somewhat appealing to look at. A new shirt, a comfortable pair of sweats. A quick brush of my hair. But that really only worked to eat up a few minutes of my life—so, naturally, I tapped my foot awkwardly, wracking my brain for something to do occupy my time until Jimmy was awake.   
I didn’t particularly want to wake him…but I didn’t want to hide out either.  
So, I did what any reasonable person would do, I started on the perfect hangover breakfast.  
The clock on my stove read 1:14.  
I had never been much of a chef. Most days, I survived on a balanced meal of cereal and boxed macaroni and cheese. Never at the same time.   
But I did tend to keep groceries on hand for those random cravings that would set in unannounced for real food. I’d trained my body well to sustain itself on the bare minimum. I wasn’t keen on throwing away what limited money I had.   
The apartment had soon filled with the smell of sizzling pig—I mean bacon. I’d turned the radio on low to help fill the silence. I wasn’t a huge fan of static silence.  
With silence brought opportunity for thoughts to fester.   
I wasn’t huge on that either.   
As I dragged my spatula against the frying pan, scrambling up a few eggs, a voice nearly startled my soul straight out of my body.  
“Morning.”  
I whipped around, still actively heavily breathing as I stared at the giant, “Dude, you scared the shit out of me.”  
He tried to laugh but was visibly far too tired, “Sorry.”  
“Coffee?” I asked as I shook off the heart attack and grabbed a second mug from the cabinet.  
He only nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets.   
Maybe he was regretting coming here. Maybe he didn’t even know who I was. Maybe he was so drunk that his brain had completely voided any recollection of our time together.   
Anxiety set in strong.   
I filled his cup and handed it over, earning myself a yawn from my guest.  
“Thanks, BP.”  
A little relief washed through me. He clearly remembered.   
“So,” I sighed, turning back around to tend to the breakfast feast I’d been preparing, “Do you feel as good as I do today?”  
This time, he laughed, “I think I fucking died last night and some sorcerer resurrected my dead ass. That’s how I feel.”   
“Ah, no,” I smirked. “That’s not death. That’s just my shitty couch.”  
I glanced over my shoulder at him, watching as he took a sip from his coffee.  
“The couch wasn’t so bad,” he shrugged. “Let’s blame the tequila. It was the fucking tequila.”  
With a satisfied sort of nod at my work, I switched off the elements and pulled the food from their respective cookware. I dumped a little of everything onto two plates and handed one to Jimmy before I led him back to my lumpy couch. Curling up with my plate resting atop my thigh, I dug in for some much-needed nutrition.   
“Last night was awesome,” Jimmy spoke suddenly, his mouth full of bacon.   
I guess the food had revived him.  
“And I was thinking. We should repeat it tonight,” he continued.   
My stomach twisted at the mere idea of a repeat.   
“There’s a rave going down at Lot 65 tonight. We should check it out,” he smirked, eyeing me for reaction. “What do you think?”   
I sincerely wanted to reject his proposal. There was nothing about his offer that sounded even a little bit tempting. My insides felt like they’d been scraped off of a wall, thrown into a blender, and then stuffed back inside my bones. A vice held my skull firmly in its grip, threatening to spill my brains all over my floor at any moment.   
All I wanted to do was sleep.   
Eternally.   
“I think,” I replied slowly, pausing to swallow down my food. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”  
But he just chuckled, shaking his head before shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth, “Why would I want to do that?”  
“I have no idea. Maybe you’re some deranged psychopath hellbent on murdering struggling musicians that are impulsive enough to invite you over after a day—and night—of drinking.”  
“You caught me,” he grinned, raising one hand up by his chest. “Guess I’ll have to let you live. You know, to keep you on your toes.”  
I snickered a little, “Chivalry is clearly not dead.”  
“Nah,” he smiled. “It would be cool if you came, but I get it if you don’t want to. I tend to get a little out of hand sometimes. But you’re fun to party with, Blair. So, if you decide your body can handle another night of Sullivan style fun, you’re more than welcome to join.”  
“I’ll think about it,” I told him truthfully, feeling the moths in my stomach begin to flutter only a little.  
“Cool,” he bobbed his head along to some phantom rhythm in his head. “You make some mean fucking eggs, I’ve gotta say.”  
I raised a brow, scoffing at his lie, “They’re fucking eggs. Hard to fuck up eggs.”  
He pointed a finger at me sternly, “Not true! I’ve started many kitchen fires by fucking up eggs!”  
I couldn’t help but laugh. The visual alone was all too entertaining.  
“Why am I not surprised?”  
“Where’d you learn to cook?” he asked curiously.   
I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t really know how to cook. You’re catching about the extent of my abilities. This is it.”  
“I’m not much better off,” he concurred. “My mom’s been trying to teach me to make simple shit for years. Like I’m some disgrace for not understanding how to make a fucking lasagna. I just don’t care enough, you know? I can always find food. I don’t enjoy making it. So, why would I?”  
“Exactly,” I half-laughed, taking a big sip from my black coffee. “Cooking is overrated. And I suck at it. Baking included. I tried to make cookies once and burnt my pan—but the cookie dough stayed raw. Still don’t understand the scientific aspect of that.”  
Jimmy found this hilarious. His laughter filled my apartment—and lifted my spirits a little simultaneously.   
“Does your mom try and push lessons on you too?” he asked curiously as his cackling slowly trailed off.  
I blinked a few times before averting my gaze, “No.”  
The mood in the room shifted. It was palpable and it was obvious.   
“Lucky,” he said awkwardly, his face contorting a little.  
“I guess…What about your mom, though? She must be nice if she cares enough to try and force basic adult skills onto you.”  
He brightened up a little, “My mom is a saint. One of the kindest human beings on the planet. She’d do anything for me, even if she says she wouldn’t.”  
“That sounds nice,” I smiled, regaling in his sentiment.   
It wasn’t something I could necessarily relate to but it brought me a little peace to hear of others enjoying opportunities not all of us were fortunate enough to share.  
“I put that woman through the ringer though,” he smirked. “I still do, I guess. Had a rough patch there for a while but we’ve gotten out of it. You’d love her. She’s awesome. She’ll feed you too.”  
“Maybe one day I’ll meet her!”  
He grinned from ear to ear, “Fuck yeah! The second you do, I swear you’ll be part of the family.”  
What a concept.  
“I look forward to becoming a Sullivan,” I teased, finishing off the last of my bacon.  
He smiled warmly at me, adjusting his position a little, “Is your family back in Massachusetts? That’s where you’re from, right? I’ve got the right state?”  
“Yes,” I half-laughed. “And uh, yeah.”  
This wasn’t technically a lie.  
It was a half lie.   
The truth was something I had never reveled in getting into. I kept it guarded away in a box, reluctant to open it even under the direst of circumstances.  
Once people knew the truth, things changed. It had been like that my entire life. I’d been judged for my life—for the things that had happened in it, even those that were out of my control. So, when I’d moved away from it all, I’d decided to take on a new identity of sorts. No longer would I be held back by the chains of the past.   
But I learned very quickly that you can’t run from ghosts for very long. Sooner or later, they’ll find you.  
And they’ll haunt your every waking moment.  
“I can’t imagine moving away from here,” Jimmy considered aloud. “I’ve lived in California my whole life. Even when we’re traveling on tours, I get homesick pretty quick.”  
“Really?” I asked, once again unable to relate. “I can’t imagine ever going back to my hometown. If I never see it again, it would be too soon.”  
He studied me for a moment. He was quiet. His eyes searched mine like they were a shimmering crystal ball.   
“That bad, huh?”  
I tilted my head a little, climbing to my feet to head into the kitchen and dump my empty plate into the sink, “Is what that bad?”  
“Whatever made you move across the country,” he answered, stuffing the last of his eggs between his lips before following me into my tiny kitchen.  
“There are worse things in the world, I’m sure,” I countered with a sigh.  
He reached around me, placing his plate onto the countertop.   
Once again, we were well within one another’s personal space without meaning to be. And once again, I really didn’t mind.   
“Doesn’t make whatever you went through any less shitty or important,” he told me softly. “We’ve all been through shit, Blair. It doesn’t have to define you.”  
I was feeling defensive. He was getting too personal, too quick. I didn’t like it.  
I didn’t like vulnerability.  
“What are you, a spiritual advisor?” I joked, stepping around him.  
He laughed lightly under his breath, “No, not at all. Well, sometimes. Especially when I’m drunk. But right now? No. I’m just trying to get to know you.”  
“Well pick something else,” I sighed. “Any other topic, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”  
He hesitated but, to my relief, pursed his lips and let it go.   
I wasn’t trying to be rude…But I had boundaries. I was firm on keeping it that way. Warm smiles or charming good looks were not going to get me to change my mind.   
“What’s your favourite movie?” he asked then.  
I was completely taken aback by the random nature of his question. I guess he was taking my suggestion to heart.  
So, I answered him.  
“Silence of the Lambs.”  
“Shit! Good pick!”   
I smirked, “What about yours?”  
“Jacob’s Ladder,” he replied swiftly without having to think.  
Wracking my brain to come up with any visual for it, I must have given myself away.  
“Never heard of it?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.   
I shook my head, “Nope. What’s it about?”  
“There’s this guy, Jacob, and –” he stopped. “You know what, it’s really one of those movies that you’d have to just watch. It’s cheesy as fuck but I love it.”  
I made a mental note to check it out.   
“Okay,” I conceded. “Maybe I’ll look into getting my hands on a copy of it.”  
“You should!” he encouraged happily. “I promise you’ll love it.”  
I rolled my eyes playfully, “You barely know me. You don’t know if I’ll love it. Maybe I’ll hate it. Maybe I’ll think it’s a total piece of shit and I’ll be forced to chuck it into a garbage can and light it on fire. Ever think of that?”  
Jimmy stared at me blankly for a few seconds before erupting into a cackling mess.  
“You ramble like I do,” he noted, still dying of laughter. “I knew we’d get along.”  
He wasn’t wrong.   
From the moment we’d met, it had been like stepping over the threshold into some parallel universe where we’d been friends our entire lives. There was something familiar about the soul hiding behind his eyes. There was something comforting about the very energy he exuded without trying.   
I found myself at complete ease around him.  
I was never at ease around anyone.  
“And now, before I can give you the chance to hate me,” he smirked. “I should take off.”  
I was annoyed to find myself disappointed.  
“Are you sure? Don’t feel like you have to rush out of here. I don’t have much of a life.”  
“As nice as it is to know that,” he teased in response. “I’ve got a few things I swore I’d get done today. But, uh—Think about coming to the party tonight. It’ll be a good fucking time, I promise.”  
I smiled politely, “I’ll think about it.”  
“Do you have a pen?” he asked them, glancing around my apartment.  
“On the table,” I replied slowly, watching him look over the pen and paper more than once.  
“Ah,” he sighed, tapping at the side of his face. “Don’t have my glasses on.”  
He bent down, picking up my pen and holding it between his long fingers. He jotted down something onto a piece of paper scattered along my coffee table before he let the pen drop back down and his spine straighten up.  
“That’s my number,” he told me. “Call me any time. Especially if you decide you want to come out tonight. I’ll come pick you up!”  
I wasn’t sure what to say by this point. The confusion was fueled by a lack of sleep and a serious need for a larger influx of coffee. Everything was starting to sputter to a stop inside my head.   
“Do you—Do you need a ride or something?” I asked slowly.   
He smiled, giving his head a shake, “No, dude. I’m good. Maybe I’ll see you later?”  
“Yeah, maybe,” I smiled back.  
To my surprise, he took me into his arms then. He caged me inside of them, squeezing me tightly. I let my hands find his back, resting my cheek against his chest as the sound of his heart took over my eardrums.   
“It was cool hanging out with you, BP,” he told me warmly. “Don’t make me wait too long to do it again, okay?”  
He let go of me then, taking a step backward.  
I looked up at him sheepishly, “I won’t.”  
“Good,” he offered with a grin. “Call me later.”  
And with that, just as quickly as he’d come through my door, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying the road so far! Comments are always welcomed and appreciated   
> xx


	9. Festering

Chapter Nine: Festering 

“You look like shit,” Tyler informed me as I pulled my apartment door open.  
He had a cup of coffee in each hand, the steam escaping from the tops of each respective lid. It was never too late in the day for a little java rejuvenation. Coffee was easily one of my most apparent addictions. Its decadence had first graced my lips at an entirely too early age, and I hadn’t been able to shake the mug ever since—despite my perpetually shaky hands.   
“Thanks,” I half-laughed, stepping out from my best friend’s path. “That’s really very sweet.”  
Tyler snaked through the doorway, allowing himself into my living room. He immediately sunk himself into my couch cushions, making himself at home as always.   
Tyler Brody’s reluctance to embody his shortcomings was staggering.   
It had been this way since I could remember; Tyler would do something cold or cynical—or downright unforgiveable—and then he’d breeze through my life without an inch of remorse or acknowledgement. It would be as if nothing happened. He could do no wrong.   
And for the seventeen years we’d been friends, I’d bought into this paradigm.   
I closed my apartment door, habitually slinging the deadbolt closed before reluctantly joining Tyler’s demonic presence. His lips crept into a devious grin, holding out the hot drink imported just for me.   
The simplest way to gain my forgiveness (or at least my absolute avoidance of a particularly uncomfortable confrontation) could always be found in caffeine.   
“Crazy night?” he asked with a raised brow.  
I sighed loudly, snatching the cup marked with a B purposefully from his outstretched hand, “I’m on the verge of fucking death.”  
“Did you have a good time at least?” he asked curiously.  
From an outside perspective, you might just believe with white-knuckled naivety that Tyler was genuinely interested in my life. I, however, knew that awkward nervousness that pulled at his skin like fine wrinkles.   
I nodded, sipping at the hot liquid as my eyes found him with deep-seeded suspicion, “Yeah.”  
His breath caught in his throat with a visual lump, “What?”  
“Nothing,” I assured him breezily, giving my head a shake.   
The coffee was good.   
The tension that settled over the room was not.  
“Don’t give me that shit,” Tyler groaned, setting his paper cup onto my tabletop. “You’re mad. I can tell.”  
My otherwise plump lips fell into nothing more than a slit as I feigned total resolve, “Mad? No.”  
“Blair, come on.”  
His tone had fallen from its bravado. My name now sounded comparable to groveling as it slipped over his tongue.  
“Why would I be mad?”  
A strategic sip from my coffee, despite the agony of the burn tinging the top of my lip, was all I could off him as he stared at me blankly.   
We stayed in this awkward standoff for an unnatural amount of time before Tyler finally caved. His head fell backward as he flopped into the back of my couch and let out a guttural groan.  
“Fine, you win. I fucked up. I get it. Just stop god damn staring at me.”  
I placed a hand delicately atop the bones of my chest, “You thought I was playing? I’m insulted.”  
“Shut up,” he grumbled, taking a deep breath before letting his eyes fall over me once more. “There was this girl, Blair. She was a smokeshow, I’m fucking telling you. We got to talking and she—”  
My face rumpled with grotesque visualization, “I get it. Thanks.”  
“You would have done the same thing,” he insisted, despite knowing the words were untrue.   
He was met with another withering stare.  
“Or maybe you wouldn’t have,” he retracted immediately with a playful laugh. “But come on, isn’t that what life is about? Getting out into the world and meeting people that actually make us feel something?”  
“In my personal experience?” I questioned aloud. “No.”  
“Well, that’s because you’re dead inside.”  
My brow rose with my irritation level, “Don’t do that, Tyler. You always do that.”  
“Do what?”  
“Flip this shit around to somehow make me into the villain. I’m not pissed at you for leaving. I’m pissed at you because you practically dragged me to that party and the second I was out of your sight, you slipped out without a damn word. Jimmy had to tell me you left. You didn’t even have the decency to tell me yourself.”  
Tyler considered this revelation for only a moment before his eyes narrowed and his forehead wrinkled. His hands folded into themselves before settling into his lap.   
I knew then that we were going to argue.  
Arguments weren’t in my wheelhouse. I’d always been the type that sat and stewed over my thoughts before ever considering articulating them aloud. Tyler was the opposite. He often spoke first and thought second.   
I’d spent a summer living with his family—which consisted only of Tyler and his two wonderful parents—and Ty and I had spent more time fighting than anything else. At the time, I’d figured it was because we were teenagers with very diverse goals and ambitions. Tyler dreamt of becoming a rock legend, carving his way to the top of the world with the frets of his guitar. I, however, dreamt of the golden coast. I wanted nothing more than to bury my head in the books and eventually, perhaps, be the one to craft the words I’d always loved to read.   
Time revealed in no uncertain terms, though, that teen angst had very little to do with our disagreements. I held a crystal ball in my palm and he held a sledgehammer.   
The hounds of hell, as it were, had other plans for my life. The tags on each of their collars read the name Tyler.   
“While we’re on the subject of Jimmy,” Tyler began slowly, his voice nearly a growl. “I suppose it’s fine with you that you ignored me all damn night to talk to him? That’s a tad hypocritical, especially for you, Blair.”  
I scoffed louder than I’d meant to, “I was not ignoring you, Tyler. Jesus fucking Christ. You were so drunk that everything you said to me came off condescending and rude. I was tolerating you.”  
“Oh, right. I forgot that Blair Peterson is perfect,” he retorted. “You’ve never gotten too drunk and said some shit you didn’t mean, right? Never?”  
I stared at him deadpan, “That isn’t what I’m saying—”  
He cut me off swiftly, his voice climbing to new heights, “I distinctly recall you screaming bloody fucking murder at me and going into great detail about how I was ruining your life! You’ve called me every name in the book, Blair! You have been black out drunk slinging off some insane shit! But that’s all fine? That’s acceptable? Why? Because you’re you? Because you think you’re better than everyone else?”  
My defences sparked and spiked. It was as if my skin transcended its pigment and adopted scales of titanium instead. Inside my armor, I crawled up into a ball and I hid.   
Tyler continued to berate my character for quite some time. This was, embarrassingly, not a unique encounter. Tyler was always the first to point an entire fist any time a single finger was pointed in his direction.   
I was his usual target.  
Perhaps it was because I allowed him to do it…or perhaps it was because he knew I had nothing and no one else in the world to fall back on. He had been my only family, and my only friend, for more years than I could count…and he knew it.  
“Are you finished?” I asked weakly as his ranting finally dialled down.  
His fists were clenched, his head was shaking atop his shoulders, “You’re just unbelievable sometimes. It’s frustrating as hell. I’m walking on eggshells for going off with some chick and yet you were clearly engrossed in some other dude all night. The hypocrisy is what has me pissed, Blair.”  
“First of all,” I began quietly, trying my best to find some bearings. “You sound more like a jealous boyfriend right now than my best friend.”  
His face was nothing short of disgusted.  
“Second,” I continued before he could interject with the obvious. “I just didn’t like the way you went about it, dude. If you want to go fuck every single girl in California, go for it. Hell, through in Nevada and Arizona while you’re at it. I don’t care. I don’t give a single fuck what you do. Just—Just don’t treat me like shit while you do it.”  
To my surprise, Tyler recoiled. He stared at me with a focus I hadn’t seen in years. More importantly, he worked over my words in silence.   
Finally, he sighed, “You’re right. You—Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”  
“It’s fine,” I forced, doing my best to let my guard down.  
“No, it isn’t. I don’t know why I get so defensive and take it out on you.”  
My teeth sunk into my bottom lip, as they did every single time my anxiety climbed higher than I could manage. I’m not sure how that particular habit had manifested itself, but I’d had it since I was a child.   
Hell, the first time was such a bloody mess, that I suffered a miniscule flashback every single time my fang would touch skin.   
Rainy afternoon, hands clutched before me nestled against the folds of my black dress.   
Something told me, though, it wasn’t the habit that was memorable. I would have embedded that memory into my brain regardless of the copper taste staining my tongue.   
I’d been running from it all my life.  
“You deserve better than that,” Tyler continued with a hint of sincerity. “I’ll do better, B. I’m sorry.”  
All I could do was repeat myself, “It’s fine.”  
“I should have told you I was leaving. That was my bad entirely. I really did think you were going to be alright though.”  
As he spoke, he leaned forward to retrieve his coffee from the table. His curiosity got the best of him as his eyes wandered the tabletop.   
And settled over something I’d forgotten to put away.  
His fingers wrapped around the scrap paper and pulled it into his view, “Huh.”  
“W-What?”  
“By the looks of it, you were fine. So fine, in fact, that you got The Rev’s phone number?”  
I shrugged, feigning pseudo confidence, “Like you said, I’d spent the entire night talking to him anyway, right?”  
“Did you bring him back here?”   
“Why does that matter?”  
His eyes found mine, “Did you?”  
“I mean—Yeah.”  
“Blair,” he groaned in exasperation. “Jesus Christ.”  
I was immediately annoyed.   
“It wasn’t some booty call shit, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I informed him with a roll of my eyes. “Though, even if it was, that’s quite literally none of your business.”  
“Of course it is,” he choked. “You understand who he is, right? You understand who he plays with?”  
The last question confused me. My confusion was clearly written all over my face as Tyler sighed directly at my helpless soul.  
“Avenged Sevenfold is huge right now, Blair,” he explained like it pained him. “And word on the street right now is they’re looking for an opener for their next tour. So, you can imagine that you having some fucking one night stand with their drummer might immediately throw us out of the running for that, right?”  
“Jimmy isn’t a bargaining chip,” I defended slowly. “We were just—”  
“Stop fucking everyone that comes near you,” he growled. “Your horrible fucking decisions have consequences for us all. I know you don’t give a shit about our band but what about me? What about my future?”  
I couldn’t help but laugh.   
“Your future? What about my future?” I demanded, eternally blown away by his split personalities. “I’m a grown ass woman, Tyler. I can do whatever I want with my body. I can make my own decisions. But, again, not that it’s any of your fucking business, I did not god damn sleep with Jimmy. We had drinks. We ate pizza. That was it.”  
Completely out of line and overdramatic as always, Tyler climbed to his feet. He crumpled the paper in his hand before tossing it directly at me. It landed at my feet with an imagined, but no less depressing, thud.   
“I thought I could deal with you today but I can’t.”  
“Tyler, what happened to you doing better? You literally just said—”  
But he shook his head as he pushed passed me, “I don’t give a shit what I just said. Sometimes, Blair—”  
When he didn’t continue, my heart began to palpitate.   
Something inside of me snapped. I can’t describe where it came from or what exactly it was. But something absolutely snapped; boiling my blood instantly.   
I whipped around the corner, catching him before he could leave.  
“Sometimes what?” I demanded. “Sometimes what, Tyler?”  
“It isn’t worth it,” he grumbled, holding the doorknob in his palm.  
But I scoffed so loud the entire apartment nearly crumbled into ruin, “Suddenly you’re a pacifist and have issue lacing the fuck into me? What were you going to say? Go ahead.”  
He turned slowly, meeting my stony gaze with his own. The words slipped out as venom, scalding my skin in their wake.  
“Sometimes it’s obvious you grew up without parents. You are so fucking lost, it’s borderline embarrassing. Figure your shit out.”  
And with that, Tyler let himself out and slammed the door behind him.   
My confidence splintered with the wood of my door. The air pushed itself from my lungs with one vigorous tornado. I was left stranded on my unsteady feet, breathless, shocked, and mortified. Old wounds ripped their seams end from end, letting the cauterized blood bubble up into crimson pools that dripped and dribbled from my chest.   
As the echoes of the past meshed with the harsh realities of the presents and came sprinting toward my sanity, I knew better than to withstand that storm. I retreated the only way I knew how. My mind switched off, my thoughts redirected to the void for the time being. As if on autopilot, I dragged my feet to the bedroom, climbed beneath my blankets and closed my eyes tight.   
Like this, inside my armor once more, curled up into a pathetic ball of helpless flesh, I waited for Tyler’s voice to bleed out.


	10. Take Your Time

Chapter Ten: Take Your Time

_“Come on,” Tyler whined, thumping his hand impatiently against the doorframe. “You can’t just stay cooped up in here for eternity every time you get offended by something some idiot says.”  
I glared from my place at the window. It had become my safe space; a tiny wooden bench built into the pane dressed with black pillows to better aid my back during my times of people watching. I spent a lot of time at that window throughout my years; more time staring through the glass at the sky hanging overhead than with other human beings.  
I was a fan of galactic embodiments.  
I wasn’t so big on the human experience.  
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I informed him flatly.  
He groaned, abandoning his place by my bedroom door to cross the hardwood and plant himself next to me.  
“I do so,” he argued. “We’ve been best friends our whole lives. I know how you get.”  
My voice fell limp as my attention wandered back out toward the world outside, “Did it ever occur to you that you might not know me as well you think you do?”  
“You aren’t mysterious, Blair. I know you think you are. It aids you in that whole ‘woe is me’ thing you’ve got going on, I get that. But you aren’t a mystery. You’re sensitive.”  
That made me laugh. Loudly.  
“I’m not,” I scoffed. “Far fucking from it. I’m tired is what I am.”  
He rolled his light eyes, “Can you please just crawl out of your brooding and come be a real person for once? It’s stupid that I have to convince you just to go out and have fun. We’re sixteen. We’re supposed to get into trouble, Blair; not just sit around feeling sorry for ourselves.”  
“I’m not—” I started to argue but knew instantly it was fruitless.  
There was never a point.  
“You’re right,” I conceded with a growl. “You should go have fun. I just want to stay home.”  
“No,” Tyler insisted. “Get your fucking jacket on and let’s go, Blair. This is ridiculous.”  
I drew in a deep, frustrated breath, “I said no.”  
“And I don’t care,” he retorted. “This is for your own good. Let’s go or I’ll rat you the fuck up for smoking out your window. Carolyn will love that.”  
It was simplistic but effective. That was all it took to have my arms sliding through the sleeves of my leather jacket.  
_

A series of impatient knocks pulled me from my trance. I’m not sure if I’d actually nodded off into the abyss or if I’d simply staggered briefly from the path of conscious thought. Nevertheless, the disturbance of splintered wood had instantaneously brought me back.  
I groaned inwardly as I pulled myself from beneath the blankets, tossing them carelessly into a ball of fabric against the wall. My feet were filled to the ankle with lead as I dragged them like corpses to meet the impetuous banging.  
But as I pulled open the door, surprise struck me down. Words eluded me as I stared up at a giant, blinking like some confused fish in an aquarium.  
“Knock, knock,” Jimmy teased, grinning like some maniacal demon that had crawled straight out of the seventh circle of hell specifically to torment me.  
I tilted my head a lot, eyeing him up with only a hint of amusement. My hand remained firmly grasped around the edge of the door.  
“W-What are you doing here?”  
He shrugged, “You didn’t call! Figured I’d just come and drag your ass out against your will if I had to.”  
I was sure his intentions were innocent—but he instantly pulled my trigger. My upper lip stiffened as my brows furrowed in contest.  
“I didn’t call because I wasn’t up for another night of partying,” I offered rather callously.  
What was it with people in my life—both new and established—that left them unabashedly careless with my wishes? Was there no right to decision in my own life? Why was it that I could never say ‘no’ and have the damn word heard? It wasn’t like it was a long, convoluted pick from the dictionary. Fairly straight forward, I’d thought.  
No.  
What a concept.  
Jimmy’s expression changed entirely. It happened in an instant. Like I’d just dragged the palm of my hand clear across his angelic face.  
“Oh, I—” he faltered, clearing his throat as his words trailed off into nothing.  
I smoothed out my proverbial feathers, shame nipping at my conscience.  
“Sorry,” I replied lamely. “I’m being fucking rude. I just meant—”  
“No, I got it,” he nodded, forcing a smile. “You’re not up for it. I heard you. I’m sorry to have bothered you…Maybe next time.”  
Before I could even begin to conjure up some magical reformation or damage control, he’d turned on his heel and peeled himself from my doorway.  
God damnit, Blair.  
With a serious exhale and a run of my hands through my particularly greasy hair, I hurried out into the hallway after him. He was already halfway down the corridor—an advantage I attributed to those long gazelle legs of his.  
I may not have been a particularly big human and I certainly did not have extremities that could stack up against him—but I did have something that I’d used time and time again to garner attention.  
And so, I summoned my big girl voice and shouted after him, “Jimmy, wait!”  
It was surprising to me how quickly his steps halted. I’d never seen my words carry such immediate response. There was a power that surged through my veins like electricity—but it quickly fizzled out into the floor.  
His pause meant my opportunity to catch up to him had been presented. I wasted no time seizing it.  
“I’m really sorry,” I told him hastily, the very second I’d neared his lanky frame. “I’m not normally that big of a bitch. I’ve just—had a shitty day. But you weren’t bothering me. You aren’t.”  
He pursed his lips, glancing around at the faded paint chipping from the walls before settling over me, “I have a bad habit of assuming people are always up to do shit. It drives my friends crazy. You don’t really know me yet…I guess I kind of forgot.”  
“I’d like to,” I offered chipperly, serving up my most innocent of smiles as I beat my long lashes up at him. “Get to know you, I mean.”  
This seemed to please him. His eyes glimmered a little, despite the extraordinarily little assistance in that regard from the dim bulbs hanging in the hallway.  
“Why was your day so shitty?” he asked then.  
My shoulders shrugged with indifference, “I don’t really want to get into it…But if you wanted to hang out, I could be up for that.”  
“But you said—”  
“I said I didn’t want to go out,” I interjected quickly. “But you’re welcome to stay in with me. If you want.”  
His lips spread into an enthusiastic grin, “Fuck yeah. I’m down for a chill night.”  
“Come on then,” I half-laughed, gesturing my head back toward the door he’d just fled from. “I’ll make you something to eat or—Or we could order in…I don’t cook. I don’t even know why I offered. I’m trying to sound impressive or some shit.”  
He watched me with intrigue as I continued to ramble on for several more excruciating seconds before he did something so bold that it silenced me immediately. Without flinching, he reached out and held his hand over my mouth—thus silencing me in one fell swoop.  
“You ramble, huh?” he snickered. “Me too.”  
I nodded slowly, reaching up to pull his hand from my face.  
No one had ever done something so strange. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. So, like all else in life, I rolled with it without acknowledgement.  
He followed me back into my apartment, this time making it passed the threshold without sass from the Peterson camp. It took him seconds to find the grooves of my couch cushions and make himself at home. I joined him timidly, suddenly very aware of the presence I’d invited in.  
I’d spent the entire day in a prevalent mood where isolation was key—the mere idea of having to communicate with a single living soul had been enough to further perpetuate my darkness. Sometimes there was nothing to do but hide away from civilization and pretend all other souls had dissipated into dust.  
But then a drummer had come knocking and suddenly I was, what? Cured? Ready to entertain and abandon my need for silence?  
It seemed ridiculous to consider this in my head but…there he was. Sat before me. On my couch.  
And I’d god damn invited him.  
Where was I for that exchange? Clearly not present because I’d woken up and suddenly found myself at a loss of what to do next.  
“You look distracted,” he noted then. “You alright?”  
I nodded in a way that suggested I was not alright.  
But I lied anyway, “Oh, yeah. Totally.”  
He laughed shallowly, letting his icy blues beat against me with a strange familiarity, “Don’t bullshit me, BP. What’s going on? What’s with the shitty day?”  
It wasn’t like me to discuss the affairs of my life. I didn’t like to openly vent my woes or candidly discuss my achievements. Anything that was personal to me, would typically remain as such. I was very much a closed book.  
But for whatever reason, I found myself bracing for verbal expulsion.  
“My best friend was here earlier and just—said some shit that made me feel like a complete fucking idiot,” I sighed loudly. “Not even so much an idiot but…Have you ever had a moment where someone says something to you and it really opens your eyes to the way they see you?”  
Jimmy was listening intently. It was evident from the gaze he kept fixated on me to the way he let his body rest.  
It was a big departure from the typical audience I found myself performing for.  
“Definitely,” he concurred. “For the better and worse.”  
“Yeah,” I frowned. “Well, in my case, this particular someone likes to show me over and over again that he thinks I’m a total piece of shit…But for some reason, I allow it. Which I know says something about my character…I’m pathetic.”  
Jimmy’s entire face screwed up with revulsion, “Wait, what? Blair, no. There’s nothing pathetic about you.”  
“You don’t know me,” I reminded him.  
“I don’t have to. I’ve spoken to you, you know? I’ve seen the way you carry yourself publicly and privately. You’re the same fucking person in both situations and there’s nothing pathetic about anything I’ve seen.”  
His words did little to heal my wounds.  
“If you let it happen,” he continued carefully. “There must be a reason why. So, what is it?”  
“I don’t know…”  
He smirked, “Yes you do. Come on, you can tell me. Talk to Jimmy.”  
This made me laugh against my will. The lightness seemed to spark his energy a little, too. He relaxed his muscles and leaned a little closer to me, watching me intently for response.  
I hesitated…  
But I did answer.  
“Tyler is the only family I have left,” I explained limply. “I’m sure you knew I was talking about Tyler, right?”  
He nodded, “I had an inkling.”  
“He’s basically my only friend too,” I continued. “And he’s stood by me through a lot of shit…He’s never left my side. When everyone else abandoned me, he stayed. So, I guess I feel like if I don’t let him say or do what he needs to, I’ll lose him too…and then I really will be alone.”  
Jimmy considered this for a moment, chewing on it like a thick chunk of fat on a chop. I could see the gears in his head turning.  
“You’re not alone,” he began slowly. “Not anymore, anyway. Maybe you have been in the past, I really don’t know. But you’ve got me now! We’re going to be good friends, BP. I’ve got a feeling about it and I’m rarely fucking wrong about my intuition. It takes a lot to get me to bail on the people I care about, so it might be time to let go of that insecurity.”  
“Easier said than done,” I countered gravely.  
“Fair enough. All I’m saying is that sometimes we get comfortable with toxicity and it clouds our judgement about what’s really best for us. I’d hate for a bitter being to start warping the perception you hold of yourself.”  
It was my turn to chew on the fat.  
“I’m a tad hypocritical, I’ll admit,” he added lightly. “I worry about what people think all the fucking time. But I’m working on it. That’s all any of us can do, Blair. Do the best we can and try and have a good fucking time while we do it.”  
“You’re probably right,” I reluctantly replied.  
“I’m definitely right,” he corrected smugly. “And that’s what I’m here for! I’m the fucking best at serving up a good time.”  
I felt inexplicably rejuvenated. Like the bony hold Tyler held on my self-assurance had quavered in its grip and finally released me from its touch.  
What Tyler thought of me, or of my life, shouldn’t have held so much value. At the end of the day, Tyler had his own demons that would tear him limb from limb. It was ironic, in a sense, that he was my demon.  
But that didn’t mean I needed to light a candle and get on my knees to bow down. I could rise up, right?  
I could find my own way?  
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I told Jimmy firmly. “I changed my mind.”  
He was confused. It was scribbled all over his face.  
“Let’s go out,” I reiterated more clearly. “I just need a couple of minutes to make myself presentable.”  
One of his brows raised, “You sure? We can just hang here, Blair.”  
“Fuck that. Give me ten minutes.”  
A grin spread from one end of his lips to the other as he gave me a look of nothing less than validation. He stretched his arm out along the top of my couch, presumably getting settled in for the wait.  
“Take your time, BP,” he assured me as I got up to head off for the shower. “I’ll be right here.”


	11. Singularity

Chapter Eleven: Singularity

Jimmy and I had been in the club for nearly an hour and were already well on our way to being unabashedly and arguably inappropriately wasted. There was no snail pace when it came to Jimmy’s impulses, I’d begun learning swiftly. We’d secured a table in a less populated corner of the place, finding more interest in each other than in anything else going on around us.   
After deciding traveling to the bar for drinks was tiresome, Jimmy made the adult decision to purchase two bottles of their finest whiskey and have it delivered to our private table. I’d never partied quite like this in my life, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thoroughly enjoying it. There was something about the entire evening that made me feel like I was somehow significant. I’m not sure if it was Jimmy’s attitude or the way he seemed to bend the world to his will but standing in his shadow left me mystically empowered.   
After our request had been dropped off, Jimmy got right to work refilling our glasses. He was bobbing his head absently along with the music as it boomed and echoed against each wall. There was a grin permanently affixed to his face as he glanced up at me, drink still pouring from the bottle.  
“Alcohol poisoning setting in yet?” he teased as he finished topping up my drink.   
I scoffed, snatching the glassware off the table and pressing it to my lips with purpose, “Hardly.”  
He laughed, his eyes narrowing with amusement, “Atta girl.”  
With a twist of the lid, the bottle was closed up and slid off to the edge of the table. Jimmy wrapped both his long hands around his glass, turning it in slow circles atop the wooden finish.   
“So, guess what,” he spoke then, eyes firmly fixated on mine.  
The whiskey burned my throat the entire way down until it had begun slowly engulfing my stomach in flame.   
“Hm?” was the best I could manage given the damnation occurring in my intestines.  
 _Damn, this shit is strong._  
“I had a chance to sit down and listen to your album today,” he informed me happily.   
I swallowed a few times, finally able to work through the fire damage. There was a moment of hesitation on my part—for some strange, sick reason, I was genuinely nervous about his opinion. It wasn’t like I’d ever put much personal stock into my career. Haven was far from my crown jewel.   
Truth be told, I’d never cared much if we succeeded or failed. There was very little creative relief to be found inside the confines of my musical prison. I was there to do a job and nothing more. I was not there to contribute. I was not there to collaborate.   
I was, quite simply, just there.  
So, when critics damned our choices or fans raved about our transitions, it did absolutely nothing to alter my mood. It brought me no satisfaction. There was no pride. I’d attributed this to my soul-clutching apathetic nature for many years. However, with a few years of exposure and a hell of a lot of opportunity without any mental change within oneself, it’s fairly easy to extrapolate the real issue.  
Haven left me unsatisfied.   
But, at the very root of Haven, was where I could be found. There, in the forefront, raw and unhidden, my vocal talents were on display for the world to critique and judge. And now, it seemed, Jimmy was to join the panel.  
“And?”  
He smiled widely, raising his glass to dump half of the brown liquid into his mouth. With half his drink demolished, he set the glass back down onto the table.   
“Your voice is insane,” he began seriously. “I’m pretty sure I’d fuck it if I could.”   
I wasn’t sure what to do with that chivalrous sentiment, so I laughed.   
“No, but seriously,” he chuckled, leaning across the table to combat the noise bombarding us from every angle. “You sing fucking beautifully, BP. You’re talented as hell. Your band’s pretty good too; I like the drums a lot.”  
Maybe it was the liquor or maybe it was the compliment, but I could feel my cheeks warming.   
“Thanks,” I managed awkwardly. “I’m glad you liked it.”  
“I did!” he concurred loudly. “I passed it onto my manager and fucking everything.”  
My head shook a couple times without my permission, as if to shake away the confusion this revelation had left me with. I blinked at him a few times, which only made him cackle like some kind of twisted demon.   
“Why would you give it to your manager?”  
He rolled his eyes at me, “Christ, you’re not just good looks, huh?”  
I feigned great offence. He smirked over at me, resting one of his hands atop mine.  
“I’m kidding. I gave it to him because you guys are fucking awesome! We need a new band to hit the road with us on our next tour. I thought you guys might be a good fit.”  
“And it has nothing to do with me, right?” I grinned. “It isn’t some big, elaborate plan to spend every waking hour with me?”   
“Oh, it is for sure,” he joked. “I’m really not that smart to think ahead that way, Blair.”  
I didn’t know it at the time, but that was a damn lie.  
There was a petty piece of my soul that was disheartened to hear of Jimmy’s plotting. That piece of me desperately wanted to let Tyler down in the coldest, most vicious way possible. To get a spot on Avenged’s tour was exactly Tyler’s goal as of late—and to know I may have accidentally helped him to achieve it with my girlish woes?   
Perhaps that would paint me to be some terrible excuse for a friend. You shouldn’t actively want to disappoint the ones you love, right? Apparently my complexes ran deeper than I’d initially thought.  
I should have been happy. I should have been damn elated. Gaining the attention of a fellow musician that was inarguably in a position to further my career was meant to be an asset. So, why wasn’t I pleased about it? Why couldn’t I feel anything at all?  
Was I so defective that even the positive emotions now eluded me? When had I grown to be so damn jaded?   
“Regardless of the reason,” I forced, trying to sound upbeat, “I appreciate the gesture. That’s really nice of you.”  
His brows furrowed a little as he surveyed me curiously, “I didn’t do it for you. Not really.”  
“Jimmy,” I pressed.  
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, throwing his hands up in defence. “I did. But hear me out because you don’t look particularly pleased about the whole ordeal.”  
“It isn’t that I’m not—”  
He scolded me with a wag of his finger, “I said hear me out.”  
I smirked, nodding sheepishly, “Go ahead.”  
“When we were first starting out, I would have killed for an established band to reach their godly hand down and pull us up with them, you know? We worked our asses off to get to a point where we can finally do some good for musicians in the position we were in. Your music is solid. Your vocals are amazing. I get the sense we’ll share a lot of our fanbases, so it seems like a nonsensical choice to include you. Unless you don’t want that. If you’re not into it, I can absolutely call Larry and tell him to kill it. I wasn’t trying to force it onto you or anything. I was trying to be the good guy here.”  
There was a sincerity to Jimmy that was palpable. You could feel it beating against you like the sunshine on a warm afternoon. His eyes were searching my own for understanding. The honesty shrouded in masses of deep sapphire nearly took my breath away.   
I think that was the first time I actually caught myself fawning, if only for a moment.   
“No,” I replied slowly, trying to shrink away from his gaze.   
His brows raised in perplexity, “No?”  
“No,” I repeated with a half laugh. “No, don’t kill it.”  
Tyler aside, Jimmy was right. Even being considered to join a tour for a band as substantial as his was an honor. Would I really let my apathy—or absolute disdain for my best friend—ruin an opportunity? At the very least, it would be an experience, right? A chance to get away from home for a while. It was the perfect opportunity to escape the solitude of my apartment and maybe unrun some of my lingering demons in the process.   
“Fuck yeah!” Jimmy cheered, slapping his hands against the tabletop. “It’s not a done fucking deal or anything but I’ll talk to the guys. We’ll beat Larry into it if we have to. I know they’ll be fucking down for it.”  
I couldn’t help but smile, my heart finally starting to find some life deep inside its cavern.   
“You’re like my fairy god…father.”  
“I can be your fairy godmother if you want,” he cackled. “Fairy Jimmy, at your service.”  
“Oh God, that would make me Cinderella,” I groaned, finally taking another sip from my drink.   
Jimmy’s head fell a little to its side as he raised a single brow, “She’s a princess, dude. You’re a chick. Don’t all chicks dream about being princesses or some shit?”  
“Uh, no. No, we do not. I’m not exactly princess material anyway.”  
Though, as I thought about it, Cinderella and I sure shared a lot of personal details. This concept was nauseating.  
I’d never been a Disney kind of girl. Even as a child.  
I’d stopped believing in fairy tales at an unfortunately young age.  
There was no glitter to life. There were no carriages drawn by magnificent steeds. There were no glass slippers or princes searching the land to find you—to save you.   
There was only you.  
And that was never quite enough for salvation.  
“Princess of metal?” he offered lamely, downing the rest of his drink.  
He then reached across the table to tip the bottom of my glass upward, thus forcing me to begin chugging the damn thing without much notice. Trying not to sputter, choke and die, I did my best to handle the sudden influx. Once it was emptied, Jimmy gave me a satisfied nod and then got to work refilling the glasses once more.  
“No,” I groaned, my voice gritty from the burn of the whiskey. “No princess at all.”  
“A queen then,” he retorted smugly, his focus on the liquor.  
“And what are you?” I asked curiously. “If I’m being forced into royalty, what are you?”  
He laughed cheekily, “The fucking court jester, dude.”  
“I would have also accepted ‘a reverend’,” I teased, pushing at his hand.  
The disturbance sent the river of whiskey pouring all over the table. Jimmy’s eyes widened in horror as he quickly turned the bottle upright, his eyes darting up to meet mine. The genuine betrayal painted all over his face was enough to send me into instant hysterics. The laughter came up like violence, erupting from the depths of my soul.   
I had literal tears.  
“Dude,” he pouted, surveying the puddle of waste. “Why? Just why?”  
“Be-Be-Because—”  
But the words couldn’t come fast enough to combat the unstoppable laughter. I threw my hands to my chest, throwing myself against the back of the booth’s bench, near death.  
My laughter soon infected the drummer across from me. It started as an amused smile but quickly grew into an arrogant echo of loud cackling. We must have looked absolutely insane to anyone on the outside looking in.  
But it was the first time in a long time that I’d felt genuinely _good_.   
I hadn’t laughed like that at nothing in an eternity.   
As my laughter fell into hiccups of giggles and then into solid exhaling, I finally dabbed at the tears collecting along the edges of my eyes.   
“Your face,” I managed, trying not to let myself erupt once more. “Fuck, that was good.”  
“You made me spill!” he informed me, still chuckling. “We’re going to have to leave a godly fucking tip now for the poor chick that has to clean this shit up.”  
I grinned from ear to ear, shrugging my shoulders, “Worth it.”  
“God damn you, Peterson,” he smirked, shaking his head. “Permission to fill our drinks without your fucking hand spasms ruining it?”  
“Granted.”  
He kept a watchful eye over me as he resumed the task carefully, keeping the bottle far, far away from me.   
Jimmy brought out a playful side of me that I truthfully hadn’t known existed. I’d never been the playful type. I’d always been reserved; always kept my hands inside the bus. But there was something about him, something inviting. It made it almost like a second nature to open up and be freer near him.   
But it made me wonder what kind of vibe I exuded onto others. Jimmy was obviously fun. He was lively and outspoken. It was infectious.   
What was I? Broody and lonely?   
Maybe, I thought then, it was my own fault Tyler was so ridden with darkness. Maybe I perpetuated his issues just by existing. Maybe my aura was black as night and stripped all those in its wake of all joy.   
Jimmy pulled me from my existential moping, sliding my now-full drink toward me.   
“So, Blair,” he began then, folding his hands under his chin.  
What was it, an interview?  
“I assume you’ll be traveling soon?”  
I narrowed my eyes at him, shaking my head, “N-No…? I don’t think so. What do you mean?”  
“For the holidays,” he laughed. “It’ll be Thanksgiving soon and Christmas after that. Usually people fly home for at least one of the fucking holidays.”  
“Do they?” I asked like I didn’t know.  
He nodded, “They do.”  
“Oh. Well, uh, nope. Not me.”  
“For either?” he asked, his interest piqued.  
“No,” I mumbled, stealing a long drink of whiskey. “Why?”  
He smiled over at me, letting his hands fall away from his face, “Well, this year my parents are being fucking lame and going on some cruise instead of feeding their children turkey.”  
He paused like I was supposed to say something.  
I didn’t.  
So, he continued, “I was thinking of trying my hand at a turkey dinner at my house! Friends only. No fucking killjoys either. Good times with good people and good drinks.”  
“Uh huh,” I hummed, still admittedly a little confused.  
“It’s next weekend,” he informed me happily. “So, if you like turkey, you should come. I’ll probably burn it or some shit, so you’d be best to eat before coming but, you know.”  
I hadn’t eaten a proper festive meal in…Well—I couldn’t even remember the last time. Holidays weren’t exactly my favourite thing. Halloween, sure. The others, though? I’d never had much reason to get into the season, so to speak. They were days like any other and I saw them through with as much disinterest as a Monday.   
But it didn’t mean I couldn’t change, right? What real reason did I have to boycott a dinner?   
“Sure,” I accepted graciously. “Sounds fun.”  
“I thought for sure you’d be out of town,” he told me, clumsily taking a sip of his drink. “I guess that means you’ll be in Minnesota for Christmas?”  
I snickered at the error, correcting him lightly, “Massachusetts.”  
“I knew it was one of the Ms,” he smirked. “Right. So, you’ll be in Massachusetts for Christmas?”  
“I told you,” I sighed to myself. “No.”  
His face fell a little, “Oh, fuck…You did. Sorry. Whiskey brain, you know?”  
He shook his drink at me for added effect.  
“It’s fine,” I replied shortly, hiding my face behind the tiny glass in hopes I’d find relief from the building tension in my bones somewhere drowned in the brown alcohol.  
“Skipping out this year or something?”  
I nodded with a sharp exhale, “Or something.”  
“You’re very vague when you want to be,” he noted skeptically.   
“I know.”  
“Don’t want to talk about it?”  
I shook my head, pursing my lips, “Nope.”  
“Okay!” he concurred firmly. “Messaged received, BP. I get it. Sometimes there’s shit you don’t want to get into on a fun night out such as this. I totally get that.”  
Something told me Jimmy and I had a similar trait—useless nattering when we grew uncomfortable.   
“There’s lots of shit I don’t like to get into…ever,” he continued, his eyes moving around the club curiously. “But just know that you can. If you ever want to. I’m a good listener. An even better talker. Here, I’ll go first.”  
I opened my mouth to interject but Jimmy was far too quick.  
“I used to think about moving away from here all the fucking time. I lived on people’s couches and shit for a while. Lived out of my car and shit. It was a rough time in my life and I thought, you know, if I could get away from Huntington and all the fucking people here, maybe my life would get better. I could go and, like, reinvent myself or something. It became an obsession.”  
I stared at him, my heartstrings tugging at one another in effort to get me to say something meaningful. Say anything at all.   
The best I could come up with was, “Why didn’t you?”  
He sighed, shrugging a little as he took a long swig of his drink, “You are who you are regardless where you go. I’d still be me, even in another zip code.”  
“But sometimes change is good,” I offered quietly. “Sometimes getting away really does help.”  
“Yeah?” he countered, setting his sights on me. “You’re obviously running from something. So, tell me, did running here help? Did you get away from it?”  
My vocal chords severed themselves.  
“Or,” he continued grittily, “are you still exactly who you were? But in the sunshine.”  
It was like bleeding out.   
My hands lost their feelings. My fingertips were like static. My ears rang and my veins hollowed themselves out.   
It was like he’d cut me right where it counted—and he’d known it would.   
Maybe he wasn’t as kind and sweet as I’d initially thought him to be. He was, however, ballsy as hell.   
My silence seemed to infiltrate his compassion. His face shifted into something lighter, alleviating the previous grim shadow that had consumed his typically warm features.  
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “I think I need to switch it up…”  
He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the empty glass onto the table.  
“Want to get out of here?”  
I wasn’t sure what had just happened.  
I wasn’t sure what was currently happening.   
All I could do was stare at him.  
“Come on,” he persuaded, letting his voice climb to a happier tone. “Let’s go escape ourselves for a bit.”  
“You just said—”  
He waved me off, scooting out from the booth to climb to his feet, “I’m full of shit, Blair. It’s high time you learned that.”  
And then he extended his hand to me.  
My chest kicked in an abstract way that I was entirely unprepared for.   
“Are you going to take me into some alley and murder me?” I asked seriously.   
But he only laughed, giving his head a shake, “Not tonight. I want to show you something.”  
“What is it?”  
He smiled warmly, thrusting his outstretched hand closer to me, urging me to take it into my own, “Just trust me.”  
I looked down at his fingers and then back up at his face.  
“I won’t hurt you, Blair,” he said then, his voice shaky.   
The alcohol had clearly taken us both on a strange path.   
But those words hit me harder than I think he’d intended them to.   
Everyone I’d ever gotten close with had, in some way, hurt me more deeply than I cared to admit. If he meant what he’d said, he’d be the first to follow through with it.   
Something told me not to trust it. Not to trust him.  
No one is without flaws. No one is capable of peering into the future and ensuring the survival of their word. How could he possibly know he wouldn’t hurt me?  
I knew he’d meant physically. I knew that.   
But there was a hint of introspection clinging to the hues of his irises that suggested maybe, just maybe, he’d meant it more profoundly than a promise not to slit my throat.   
Maybe it wasn’t about trying to berate me or make me feel badly about my life. He didn’t know my life. He didn’t really know me.  
And that was just it.  
He wanted to.  
“Promise?” I asked, my voice suffocated and gritty.  
His eyes softened faintly, “I promise.”  
With a worried sort of sigh, I let my hand fall against his own. As his fingers laced around mine, I was whisked away back onto my feet. He threw a handful of bills onto our cluttered and sticky table and then led me away, through the sea of people and out the exit.  
And he never once let go.


	12. My Religion

Chapter Twelve: My Religion

“Come on, you tiny fucking thing,” Jimmy laughed, reaching down to scoop his hands beneath my arms as I struggled.   
I grunted as the ledge of a roof dug into my ribcage, nearly pressing every last bit of oxygen I possessed straight out of my being, “I’m trying.”  
But before my struggle could grow even more humiliating, the drummer hoisted me over the edge like I weighed nothing. He set me down on my feet, clearly paying no attention to how drunkenly dizzied I was from the brief twirl. There was no chance to correct myself though. Jimmy was already dragging me across the way.   
He stopped only once we’d reached the other side.  
“Trust me,” he said aloud, reading my mind no doubt, as he stepped over the small ledge and took up a seat along its permanency. “Sit.”  
I shrugged a little, figuring the chances of falling from a roof probably weren’t high—and even if I did, what really would it matter? It wasn’t like there were many people left in my life to mourn the loss of their fallen (literally) friend. Would it hurt? I’d always wondered.   
What was it like to freefall, knowing you’re plummeting helplessly to your death? Was it serene? Chaotic? Turbulent? Would you feel it when you hit the ground?  
I took a careful seat next to him, letting my legs dangle over the edge.  
“Cool, right?” he smirked, bumping me with his shoulder. “I used to sneak up here all the fucking time.”  
We were sat high up above a sea of darkened concrete. The street lay behind us, bustling with cars blissfully unaware of our trespassing. Below us was what appeared to be some sort of courtyard, another building laid across the way staring back at us like a mirror image.  
“What is this?” I asked dumbly. “Where are we?”  
He chuckled, “The high school! My high school! I’m fairly certain I’ve spent more time up on its roof than I ever spent in its halls. Funny how that works, huh?”  
My face scrunched with confused amusement, “Hilarious.”  
“What? You’ve never climbed up onto your high school’s roof? Is that an Orange County thing?”  
It was my turn to laugh, “I think that’s just a Jimmy thing, dude.”  
“No fucking way,” he refused this notion, shaking his head wildly. “Most people I know have climbed up here once or fucking twice at least. You’ve seriously never done that back wherever you’re from?”  
“Never,” I conceded in shame. “But my high school was definitely smaller than this. There wouldn’t have been much point in climbing on top of it.”  
“Huntington High School isn’t exactly big, Blair,” Jimmy informed me flatly.   
I gawked at him strangely, “Dude. My high school was so fucking small that we shared it with the middle school. There’s only, like, five thousand people total that live in that shitty city. So, this? This is like a god damn monster of a building to me.”  
He stared at me with the strangest expression; like his brain had overloaded with information and the gears were all flying around in opposing directions. He promptly oiled up the machines, regaining control over his features as he narrowed his eyes at me.  
“Did you say five fucking thousand? Five with three zeros at the end?”  
“Yes,” I replied flatly.  
He burst into laughter, “Where the fuck are you from? Some tiny ass village under a rock?”  
“Yeah, basically,” I smirked.   
“Where is this magical place? I want to fucking see it.”  
“Back in Massachusetts.”  
He rolled his eyes, lips spreading into a permanent grin as he reached over and rustled my black hair, “Yeah, I knew that part, you dork. I meant more specific than that. How drunk are you? Do you not speak English when you’ve been drinking? What language do you start speaking? I’ll tell you now, if you start speaking in fucking tongues and your head spins around on your shoulders, I’m fucking leaving you here.”  
“I’m not fucking Regan MacNeil, Jimmy,” I cackled, unable to handle the ridiculousness of the visual he’d painted.   
“Prove it! Where are you from? I will be fact-checking.”  
I groaned playfully, “Don’t fact-check me. I’m from a town called Lenox. It’s like—Uh, I don’t know, three hours out of Boston. You have heard of Boston, right?”  
“That explains your goofy ass accent,” he teased. “You’re basically Mark Wahlberg.”   
There were no words necessary. I couldn’t even begin to think of a way to properly dignify what he’d said with some sort of response.   
But, in proper Jimmy fashion, he didn’t really need a response.  
He’d already continued in a ridiculously emphasised accent, “This is unbelievable. Who put the fuckin' cameras in this place?”  
I stared at him in helpless confusion. This only made him laugh, nodding at me as he continued on enthusiastically.   
“Who the fuck are you?”  
I wasn’t sure if I was meant to respond or if he was still doing some bit.  
“I'm the guy who does his job,” he continued, the accent getting thicker by the second. “You must be the other guy.”  
And then he cut out, staring at me expectantly with far more joy on his face than was probably necessary. I could only laugh—awkwardly, might I add.  
“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re doing,” I chuckled.  
“Oh, come on!” he groaned, leaning backward theatrically with his head titled back. “Mark Wahlberg! From, uh—You know, that movie! The one where he’s a dude from Boston!”  
I raised a brow, “So, every Mark Wahlberg movie ever?”  
Jimmy erupted into amused and maniacal laughter, immediately slinging an arm around my shoulders, “Pretty fucking much.”  
“I do not sound like that,” I insisted, my brain finally jolting from its obvious slumber.   
“Kind of,” he grinned from ear to ear. “I like it though. Makes you sound fucking exotic or some shit.”  
I scoffed, “Oh yeah, insanely fucking exotic—all the way from god damn Massachusetts.”  
“Hey, I’ll have you know that I fucking love Boston! We’ve played there a couple of times and it’s awesome. You’ve got delicious fucking cream pies.”  
“Boston is nothing compared to Los Angeles,” I noted, rather informatively. “I much prefer the commute to LA than I ever did to Boston.”  
It was his turn to scoff, “LA is fucking overrated. I love Huntington though. Orange County has a better feeling to it, you know? I can’t imagine ever not living here. This is my home.”  
“And it’s close to LA.”  
He sighed in defeat, “I don’t know why you love LA so much. I try really fucking hard not to spend much time there unless I have to.”  
“That’s how I feel about Boston.”  
The drummer leaned away for a second, looking down at me inquisitively, “I see what you did there.”  
I grinned smugly, “I’m more than just good looks, you know.”  
“I can tell!”  
There was a second where I hesitated in the moment, letting my thoughts whisk themselves away on some crush of a chariot. Did he just acknowledge he thought I was good looking? Or was he just simply going along with my most recent ridiculous tease?   
Did it matter?  
There wasn’t much time too dwell—or to consider why the hell I was even dwelling on it in the first place—before Jimmy was onto the next thing. His tongue, I learned, moved faster than his brain.   
“Did you spend a ton of time in Boston though? I get forced to Los Angeles a lot. I just wonder if it’s the same shit for you middle-of-nowhere people.”  
“Middle-of-nowhere people,” I repeated in a dissatisfied grumble. “No, not really. I mean—as a kid, I guess. I used to go on trips with my dad sometimes when he’d have to go to the office.”  
“He worked in Boston?” Jimmy asked curiously, releasing his hold on me to dig around in the pockets of his leather jacket. “That’s a long fucking commute.”  
I shook my head, watching him with interest, “No, no. He worked remotely from Lenox but for a paper in Boston. So, sometimes he’d have to go up there and do shit. I really don’t know. I was really young, I can barely remember the logistics of it.”  
He pulled a pack of cigarettes out, kindly offering one to me, “A paper?”  
“Yeah,” I nodded, gratefully accepting the gift of nicotine. “He was a writer. Err—A journalist. Is that the same thing? I don’t know. He wrote books too, I guess. But I don’t think any of them got published or anything.”  
“That’s fucking cool,” he breathed, mulling over the information as he reached out to light the end of my cigarette. “What’s he do now?”  
I nearly choked on the inhalation of smoke. Not because my veteran lungs couldn’t handle it but because it had been bad timing paired with a bad question.  
“What do you mean?” I coughed, waving at my face like that might help increase the oxygen flow.  
Jimmy watched me closely, presumably to see if I’d die or not, “You keep saying he ‘was’ a writer. So, I assume he doesn’t do it anymore? What’s he do now?”  
My lungs continued to sputter, there was no hiding it. I buried my mouth into my elbow as my chest caved and seized in horrifically painful rhythms. I felt Jimmy’s hand fall gently against my back, his palm running small circles against my spine.   
“You okay?” he asked, half-concerned and half-amused.  
I nodded, my eyes brimming with tears, “I’m f—I’m good.”  
“First smoke or what?” he teased, a glimmer in his blue eyes.  
“Shut up,” I grumbled, pushing at him as I finally got my breathing back under control.   
He smiled at me, letting his fingers fall away from my back, “You good though? For real?”  
“Yeah, yeah. Just breathed the wrong way or something.”  
“Ah, yes. Tricky shit, that breathing,” he grinned.   
My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head, “Enough about me anyway. What about you? What’s your dad do?”  
Jimmy made the strangest sound as he cast his eyes off into the distance, “He does work with the church. A man of God or what fucking ever.”  
“Not your calling, I take it?”   
“Fuck no,” he scoffed loudly. “I don’t even know if I believe in God. I guess I like the idea of some grandiose being sitting above us all, dictating the shit we do and the way our paths stretch out. But can I really back such an immensely abstract idea like an all-knowing deity? I don’t know.”  
He wasn’t saying anything that I hadn’t considered myself but for reasons unbeknownst to me, his words hit me in a profound sort of way. Perhaps it was the way the words sounded slipping between his lips or maybe it was the genuine complexity laced into his voice. Whatever it was, it was soothing. Beneath the California stars, Jimmy sat with me debating internally the existence of a being that wars had been waged over.  
There was something magnificently beautiful about it.  
“Shit,” he slipped back from his mind, looking over at me with wide eyes. “You’re not religious, are you? My parents are always telling me to be fucking careful who I say that shit to but I always forget.”  
“No,” I assured him with a faint smile. “I’m not.”  
He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, “Thank fuck.”  
“Me and God,” I thought aloud, looking down at the ground below, “we don’t get along.”  
Something in the vibe shifted as the words swelled up between us. And to my surprise, Jimmy reached over and took my hand into his.   
My eyes found his slowly, indescribably nervous about what I might find looking back at me. But his blues were light and endlessly reassuring.   
He didn’t even blink.  
“Me neither.”  
A twisted comfort spread throughout my intestines, warping itself to blend into the blood in my veins. It was surreal and it was serene. There was a comradery in Jimmy that I’d never known. An understanding.  
A singularity.   
He made no efforts to pull his hand back, but instead let his fingers lace with my own as he tightened his grip.  
“What about the Egyptians though?” he asked more lightly, the atmosphere shifting gears once more.   
“Oh, dude!” I snickered. “They had, like, a million gods!”  
He concurred with a laugh, “I know! It’s greedy, is what it is.”  
As he spun into his typical tornado of linguistics, I couldn’t fight the urge to make myself a memory. I memorized the light of the moon reflected off the bridge of his pixie nose, the light flecks of blue in his eyes that seemed to dance with the starlight. The taste of his cigarette burning against my tongue as we smoked his entire pack through the night—and then another after we’d gone off for more.   
I knew it from that moment on: I wanted to remember every single second spent with Jimmy Sullivan.


	13. Twigs

Chapter 13: Twigs

When I awoke the next morning, the parasite latched to my brain was in a full-on feeding frenzy. As I sat up, laboring to regain my wits, the hangover demon pressed its claws deeper into the squishy mass imprisoned in my skull. I winced to myself, squinting to keep the creeping daylight out. Somehow I’d made it home—the journey back to my apartment, however, was a mystery. It was been lost to the abyss of drunkenness.   
The last thing I could remember was popping into a nearby store with Jimmy, the moon already sat high above the darkened clouds. We’d bought cigarettes, of that I was sure. It was safe to assume alcohol had been on our purchase list, as well, given the sweet suffering that I was presently enduring.   
I could remember the crashing sound of waves against the beach. The feel of sand engrained in my palms.   
The smell of Jimmy’s cologne.   
Any other remnants of that night had been lost to the sea of the past. Would I ever retrieve the tidbits I’d lost? I doubted it. But it didn’t really matter, I supposed. I’d clearly enjoyed myself, judging solely on the immense pain I was currently in. Moreover, I’d clearly made it home in one piece.   
Shuffling in shame from my bed’s protection, I made my way to the kitchen. There could be no beginning to my day, regardless of the hour, without a lethal dose of caffeine. Even the cupboard door squeaking on its hinges was enough to leave me nearly breathless. Every single sound was amplified as if someone was standing behind me with a megaphone. But within a few minutes, despite my body screaming at me to retreat back to the sanctuary of my lumpy mattress, I’d managed to get the coffee grounds into the filter and the magical machine had roared to life.   
Only then did my eyes wandered to the clock.  
 _2:16_  
Leaning against my kitchen cupboards, I commended myself for an arguably decent sleep. It wasn’t particularly strange for me to spend afternoon hours in the abyss of unconsciousness, but typically when I’d spent the night binge drinking until my liver physically ached, I would (for whatever reason) awaken an ungodly hour in the morning. It was as if copious amounts of alcohol reversed my usual sloth behaviour.   
I couldn’t help but wonder what time I’d crashed into my pillows the night before.   
The thought lingered as I half-heartedly tried to summon the previous evening’s adventures over my first three cups of coffee, MTV quietly running on my outdated television screen. I’d draped my wool blanket over my legs, staring at the moving pictures without ever really registering a single frame. My mind was someplace else, playing tug-of-war with an agonizing headache and a surge of java.   
It couldn’t have been more than an hour before a rapid series of knocks pounded at my door. This alone was enough to send each of my nerves bounding through my skin, leaving a fleshy gore in their wake. My eyes pursed tightly closed as I tried to ward off the throbbing between my temples, all to no avail.   
My feet felt like lead as they thumped against my chipped floorboards. They were equally heavy as they were loud as I dragged them from the couch to the door, seriously considering ignoring the intrusion in hopes it would retreat.   
I was beyond surprised to find a set of unfriendly eyes staring back at me as I creaked the door open.  
“Justin?” I questioned, rubbing the sleep—and last night’s mascara—from my right eye.  
Part of me was sure I was hallucinating. Had I dabbled in psychedelics last night too?  
“Hey,” he grumbled, looking as displeased as ever. “I’ve been sent to come get you.”  
There were two strange things happening here: firstly, Justin had never been to my apartment. Never. I’d known the guy for seven years and this was the first time I’d ever seen him in my personal, private space. Secondly, and more importantly, Justin was never the messenger. Justin was, to put it lightly, my nemesis. If it were normal to have such a thing outside a comic strip.   
We’d never gotten along. Perhaps there had been a few nights sprinkled throughout the river of time where we’d temporarily forgotten our utter disdain for one another, but as a thorough and constant rule, we absolutely despised one another.  
He was rude. Arrogant. It was like talking to a grunting, scoffing brick wall at the best of times. We had absolutely nothing in common. Save for one thing, I suppose.  
The band.  
Justin DeBoer was one of the most talented musicians I’d ever known. He was a frightfully skilled drummer, which was how our paths had ended up so intertwined, but he was also a gifted guitarist, vocalist and pianist. I’d always heard rumors that he was pretty apt in the way of violin as well. It wasn’t like I’d ever cared enough about the gossip to ask him outright. Despite my personal reservations about his person, I was always ready and willing to defend his musical accomplishments. I’d have to at least give him that.   
What he lacked in humanity, he more than made up for in talent.  
“To get me for what?” I asked impatiently, the sight of my drummer alone was enough to leave my skin crawling with irritation.  
He sighed, tapping his foot impatiently, “Do you ever answer your phone?”  
“Sometimes,” I nodded.  
My genuine response to his obvious sarcasm annoyed him visibly. This satisfied me more than anything in the world. My smug grin seemed to only annoy him further.  
“Just get your shit, let’s go,” he hissed.  
“Dude,” I replied with a scoff. “I just got up. I’m not going anywhere.”  
He blinked at me, “First of all, don’t call me ‘dude’. How many times do I have to say that? Second of all, what exactly about my face right now even remotely suggests I give a shit about when you got up? Austin told me to come and get you. Here I am. Let’s fucking go.”  
This clearly was not up for debate.   
I glanced around, searching for an exit strategy no doubt, before caving with a groan.  
“Come in for a minute,” I instructed him but it came out like a question. “I need to change.”  
“Blair,” he grumbled.  
“I’ll be five fucking minutes,” I insisted, already turning on my heel to reluctantly head for a pair of jeans.  
To my surprise, Justin caught the closing door with the side of his fist. He stepped inside my tiny apartment, lingering in the doorway as I disappeared into the bedroom.  
It was a strange sensation to know Justin was waiting in my home. Like welcoming in a vampire, I imagine. It seems like a solution at the time but the second their presence washes against yours, you find yourself asking ‘why did I do that’?  
At the very least, his existence in my apartment hastened my routine. I ran a brush through my hair, wiped away ancient makeup with my thumbs, slid into a pair of jeans and tossed a hoody over my tank. I wasn’t about to make myself all gussied up for anything Austin had initiated.  
Austin Walker was our manager, for all intents and purposes. If you thought my hatred for Justin was bad—  
I would have happily clutched a bouquet of roses and slow-marched down the aisle to Justin DeBoer’s awaiting arms if it meant I could somehow sidestep ever having to speak to Austin ever again. Every word that came out of his snake oil salesman mouth was coated in absolute bullshit.  
And degradation.  
He’d spent the last year consistently trying to convince the band to replace me as the vocalist. Surprisingly enough, though, his plan had been foiled. I’d never been Haven’s favourite. Hell, the only member I really got along with was Tyler. So, when I’d been offered an extension on my contract, I was nearly touched.   
John, our guitarist, had swiftly killed that elation though.  
“It’s business,” he’d informed me, probably sensing the lift in my mood as I dragged the pen across the dotted line. “You’re hot. It works to our benefit. Don’t read into it.”  
I emerged from the bedroom, pulling on a pair of my favourite boots as Justin watched me with obvious impatience. Snatching my keys from the small table, I shrugged at him.  
“What? I’m waiting on you,” I told him in my snarkiest tone.   
He almost laughed. I swear I could see it building behind his permanent scowl. There was a looseness in the edges of his lips, I could see the hinges caving.   
But he hid it skillfully with a scoff as we both piled out from my apartment, lingering for only a second as I locked the door behind us.  
The ride was as awkward as it was silent. The radio played subtly, offering only a little salvation in an otherwise unbearable situation. I kept my eyes glued out the window, praying for deliverance.   
But, to my surprise, the volume was suddenly cranked as music rushed through the speakers to bury us both in its chaos. My head snapped to look over at Justin in confusion. His hands were drumming against the steering wheel to the beat as his head bobbed along. He glanced at me briefly, offering only a warning glare before turning back to the road before us.  
I sat through the song uncomfortably, surprising myself with how much I was genuinely enjoying the melody. The singer was familiar. I’d definitely heard his voice before but couldn’t quite place it. I found myself thumping my thumbs atop my thighs, something I tried to leave as a subtlety. I didn’t need Justin berating me for finding joy in something.  
But as the song winded out, Justin’s hand reached blindly for the dial, letting the volume fall back into nothingness. The silence returned.  
I’m not sure why, but something came over me. Something that had never come over me before.  
I could feel it coming—like the moment of panic just before you projectile vomit. The pressure in the back of your throat. The burning.   
All of a sudden, without warning, I was talking.  
“Who was that?”  
The words hung in the air like puppets on strings. They were heavy and bulky, the weight suffocating the two of us.  
Justin’s lips pursed as he noticeably focused his eyes on the road.  
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, “Fine. Fuck it.”  
I let my eyes roll back into my skull before settling them back on the window, kicking myself for accidentally extending a flimsy olive branch. If he wanted to continue to be a dick, so be it.   
But then, the unthinkable happened.  
“Avenged Sevenfold,” he muttered, like it physically pained him to speak to me.  
The lightbulb went on in an instant. That explained the familiarity.  
“Oh,” I replied quietly. “Right.”  
“Do—” he tried but stopped, clearing his throat a little. “Do you like them?”  
It was the first time Justin had ever asked me a question about anything. If we weren’t discussing band details, or arguing like brats, we really did not speak at all. This was unchartered territory. I wasn’t sure which foot to step with.   
“No, not really…I mean, I haven’t really listened to them enough to have an opinion.”  
He only nodded.  
“I like what I’ve heard though,” I added weakly.  
With a feeble point, he gestured to the compartment before my knees, “I’ve got their CDs in there if you want to throw one in.”  
I wasn’t sure if it was an offer or an instruction, so I did just that. Sliding it into the player, I felt small and awkward. Touching anything that he owned felt like intrusion.   
“Good choice,” Justin smirked, his positivity catching me entirely off guard. “City of Evil is great but Waking the Fallen will always be my favourite.”  
None of this meant literally anything to me.  
“I don’t know if I’ve heard any of it,” I confessed sheepishly. “I’ve only heard what Ty has played.”  
“Oh, fuck,” Justin scoffed. “Tyler’s obsessed with City of Evil right now. He’s an idiot. What am I saying? You already know he’s an idiot.”  
To my horror, I laughed.  
“I do, yes.”  
“Gotta love him though,” Justin added affectionately. “He always finds the weirdest music. The guy has an amazing ear.”  
I tilted my head a little, kind of like a confused puppy might, “Weird music? Tyler doesn’t listen to weird music.”  
“Sure he does.”  
“No,” I pressed with great confusion.  
“Yes,” Justin argued slowly, looking at me with the fiery scowl I knew all too well.  
“Tyler loves shit like Metallica and Slayer and fucking Nirvana of all things,” I explained quickly. “There isn’t a bone in Tyler’s entire body that appreciates anything even sort of strange or out of the box.”  
The drummer shook his head, “No, he was showing me this band a few weeks ago. Uh, Primus, I think. Yeah, Primus.”  
My face contorted itself.  
Tyler _hated_ Primus. I, however, had been listening to them for years. I’d labored tirelessly to try and convince Tyler to get into them with me—he’d always refused. He’d self-proclaimed himself a hater.  
“And what’s that other one,” Justin thought aloud. “Oh! Mr. Bungle! Shit’s fucking retro but delicious. It’s got the dude from Faith No More.”  
“I know,” I replied through grit teeth. “They’re my favourite band.”  
Justin snapped his neck to look at me, “What? Really? I didn’t peg you for an adventurous kind of girl.”  
“That’s probably because you don’t know me,” I growled.  
This wasn’t exactly the first time Tyler had poached something of mine and claimed it as his own. He was endlessly stealing lyrics from my anthology and passing them off as his own. I’d grown used to that.  
But for him to constantly belittle my musical preferences and shame me for my tastes only to turn around and pawn them off as some indication of musical appreciation supremacy? It rubbed me like sandpaper on a sunburn.   
Sometimes I wasn’t sure Tyler even had a personality of his own. He was the equivalent of Frankenstein’s monster; just pieces and patches of other souls sewn together into one monstrosity. But no one could see it. Not like I could.   
And honestly? I hated what I saw.  
“Fair enough,” Justin receded with a grunt.   
Without saying another word, I cranked the volume, effectively cutting our conversation short. Justin didn’t seem to mind at all. It had probably pained him to talk to me for more than two minutes anyway. I was doing him a service, really.   
But all I wanted to do was seethe inside my skin. My blood was boiling until the colour had mutated into blackened tar.   
It was the first time that I vividly felt the trepidation of facing Tyler creeping over me. Not because we’d argued. Not because he’d hurt my feelings. Not even because he’d unknowingly enraged me with his quiet toxic nature.  
But because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from punching him straight in his smug jaw.   
That was the moment I made the initial snip of the cord.   
You could take my creativity. Hell, you could take my voice and bend it to fit your rhetoric. You could take my soul.  
But no one, and I mean no one, was about to take Mike Patton from me.   
I knew then, quietly in the passenger seat as we hit Los Angeles, it was time I freed myself from the beast that had chained me most my life.   
It was time to find who I was without Tyler Brody. With my weird musical tastes in tow, free from his ugly grip.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: The Journey

The whole team had been assembled by time Justin and I showed our faces. He’d knocked twice on the door, a gold plate reading _A. Whitney_ hung neatly centered along the woodgrain, before turning the knob and letting the door swing on its hinges. I followed closely behind him, receiving a far colder welcome than he; he was offered smiles and ever-macho handshakes. No one acknowledged me with anything more than an oblivious sort of stare.  
Tyler included.  
Though, admittedly, his resembled a glare more than anything else. I supposed he hadn’t moved himself on from our argument—neither had I, truthfully. But I’d always been better at burying the hatchet than Tyler, despite the fact he was usually the one wielding the weapon. I was simply responsible for ditching the body.  
“Now that everyone’s here,” our manager piped up from behind his cluttered desk, his stony gaze fixated on me as if to chastise me for my tardiness. “Can we get started? There’s business to discuss.”  
“Ah, come on, Aussie,” our guitarist smirked, “Chris and I were just about to start debating evolution.”  
“I’ll get in on that,” Justin laughed, grinning over at his friend.  
I sat on the edge of a chair, my hands folded in my lap like a cross between a proper lady and a seriously socially inept toddler. The room was immensely crowded with personalities; none of which meshed well with my own. I was, and would always be, ensuring I was as small as physically possible. It was a grim form of personified origami. I’d fold my skin to create a thousand tiny creases and corners if only to appear for a moment as something different. I wanted only to appear that I belonged.   
But Austin rolled his brown eyes, “We can discuss humanity later.”  
“Woah, woah,” Chris snickered, giving his head a shake. “Humanity and evolution are two entirely different things, my man. You’re confused!”  
“He’s always confused,” Tyler chuckled, a devilish grin spreading over his face.  
John jumped in with a pointed laugh, “And angry!”  
Justin nodded, “Quick! Someone start talking about vacation time. I’d like to watch his fuckin’ head fly off his shoulders!”  
Austin’s face contorted itself with horror as he instantly shot up onto his feet, hands booming against the wooden top of his cherry desk, “No one is receiving any vacation time!”  
Our drummer grinned, leaning back into the cushion of the leather sofa currently woefully overpopulated with musicians, “I think I saw at least a little levitation action there.”  
“Shut it, DeBoer,” Austin instructed with a snarl. “Make like Peterson and everyone fall silent for once.”  
The group all looked over at me, varying levels of disturbance painted along their brows.  
“There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear,” John grumbled as he crumpled into himself.  
Austin sighed loudly, eternally frustrated with our group, “Now that we have some order, I’ve got some news to share.”  
“And here I thought you’d invited us down here for a party,” Justin whined dramatically, letting his lips fall into a particularly theatrical pout.  
He was instantly nudged by Tyler, a stern ‘shut up’ sort of grimace thrown his way for good measure.   
I wished they’d all shut up.   
The sooner the idiots would give up their antics, the sooner Austin could get on with whatever bullshit he was about to spew, and the sooner we could all get out of there. I, for one, was rather invested in the idea of hunkering down between my mattress and my comforter for the foreseeable future. These delinquents were currently acting as the barrier between me and my happiness.  
A running theme, no doubt.  
“I’m certain a party will be in order,” Austin surprised us all with his disarmingly sudden sunny disposition. “I received a call from Larry Jacobson this morning. Seems Haven has somehow found their way onto the radar of the powers that be for a large national tour.”  
Everyone else in the room seemed elated by this. I, however, had absolutely no idea who ‘Larry Jacobson’ was or why this name would warrant a party. What national tour? Who’s?  
And then the lights slowly began to flicker in my brain.   
Tyler’s permanent scowl cast in my direction was a solid indicator that my train of thought was on the right track. Something told me this had a little to do with Jimmy.   
“Are you for real?” John choked, suddenly his attention piqued as he leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees.   
“It’s not a done deal,” Austin quickly clarified. “I told him I’d need to speak with you all before we signed off on anything.”  
Chris, our soulless bassist, was bright-eyed and bushy tailed, “Quit holding out on us! What’s the tour? What’s the offer? Why didn’t you just say ‘yes’?”  
“Yeah,” Justin snickered quietly. “Probably safe bet to assume we were down to do it, man.”  
“It’s a nine-week tour through the US, a few stops in Canada. Thirty-five shows. The fiscal aspect is respectable, but the exposure would be priceless. It’s an exceptionally good opportunity to showcase yourselves to an entirely new fanbase.”  
Tyler threw his hands out to his sides, “Fucking obviously.”  
Everyone seemed so enamored with this seemingly glamorous opportunity that there were apparently no others gears turning in the room. Did no one else find this deal to be nearly too good to be true? If I’d learned anything in my short life, it was that nothing good ever comes without a price. There is always an anchor.   
Clearing my throat of its pessimism, I finally spoke, “What’s the catch?”   
I swear I could literally hear everyone’s eyes rolling into the back of their heads. It was grotesque at best.  
Austin stared at me for a moment, his eyes flickering with both disdain and a hint of understanding. We may not have enjoyed one another’s company, but I was, at most times, the most level-headed in the group. This was probably because there was no one I was ever comfortable enough to start causing trouble.   
It was my attitude that was always getting me hung up by my ankles.   
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it a ‘catch’,” Austin clarified, effectively lassoing everyone’s focus once more.   
Heaven forbid I was actually right for once.   
“What is it then?” Tyler asked, presumably hopping the fence to rejoin my team.  
“There’s a Nondisclosure Agreement you’ll each need to sign,” he shrugged, settling back down into his oversized chair.  
Nothing screams ‘I’m the boss’ like a leather chair three sizes too big. Perhaps he moonlit as a villain.  
“Apparently the boys of Avenged Sevenfold have a tendency to get a little rowdy at times. They’d very much like to keep this out of the media.”  
“Done,” John decided for everyone. “What else?”  
“The label will provide the food budget but it’s minimal,” Austin continued. “So, I’d suggest pinching your pennies starting now.”  
Chris waved him off, “No big deal.”  
Clearly Chris was not in the same position as I. I struggled most months just to make my rent. There was a time where I’d seriously considered returning to my illustrious previous career of waiting tables just to make ends meet. But then we’d sold a few albums, swindled some kids out of their money for merch, and voila, another month with a roof over my head.  
It wasn’t as if I’d never lived without the luxury of a roof. Tyler and I spent two months living in my car when we’d first moved to California. We survived on my savings, struggling to find work while we labored endlessly to stir up a credible fan base along the west coast. Between meeting with executives, recording and thrusting our demos onto said executives, and busting our asses to gain some attention, money was tight. Landlords weren’t keen to rent to struggling musicians with no steady income and literally zero working knowledge of the area.   
I’d gone back to waitressing and Tyler had found work as a cashier at a corner store. It wasn’t pretty but it was enough to gain a little trust from prospective landlords and after seventy-two days, we finally received the keys to our first apartment in Anaheim.   
It wasn’t a life I wanted to return to. Could I afford rent while out on a national tour? Would I starve on the road? Would I survive a national tour with these people? The longest we’d ever been out together was a measly two weeks—and that was strictly throughout Massachusetts.   
The entire thing made me entirely uneasy.  
However, I did understand that if I was going to make a career with them, I’d have to learn to travel with them. I’d have to learn to work with them.   
But they should learn to work with me too…I guess they’d missed the memo on that sparkling revelation.  
“Here’s the kicker,” Austin spoke firmly. “If anyone had plans for the holidays, I suggest you cancel them.”  
John was the only one this seemed to bother.  
“Wait, what? Why?” he pressed swiftly.  
“You’re scheduled to hit the road two days after Thanksgiving. No rest for the wicked.”  
John’s jaw hit the floor, “Christmas?”  
“Two weeks off for Christmas,” Austin assured him flatly. “But then it’s right back to it.”  
“Okay,” our guitarist chewed, grappling with the idea of travelling over a time I could only assume he’d intended to spend back on the east coast. “Yeah, that’s—That’s fine.”  
“You’ll be one of two openers,” Austin continued, dismissing John’s internal despair. “They had a band drop out, I presume. We’re a last minute addition but I don’t think we should let our pride make this choice. We were still considered and for that, we should be grateful. Right, Peterson?”  
Why I was the one being singled out, I didn’t know. I never knew.  
I rolled my eyes, “Sure.”  
“Did he say why they wanted us?” Justin asked curiously. “We have been getting a lot more radio play lately. Maybe that’s making a fucking difference for us finally.”  
“Nah,” Tyler scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.  
Austin’s brows furrowed as he looked over the guitarist, “Something to share with the class, Brody?”  
“A round of applause for the lady is in fucking order is all,” Tyler growled, glaring at me. “Who knew Blair’s fucking vagina was worth a national tour.”  
“Woah, what?” Chris choked on his laughter. “Blair fucked Larry Jacobson?”  
My face scrunched up, “Who the fuck even is Larry Jacobson?”  
“Their manager,” Tyler snarled at me.   
“You fucked Avenged’s manager?” Justin asked me seriously, politely trying to hide his amusement.  
I’m not sure why he was showing me mercy. Very little of this entire day made any sense to me at all.   
I groaned loudly, letting my head fall back in exasperation, “Holy fuck. I didn’t fuck Larry Jacobson. I didn’t fuck anybody!”  
“Blair Peterson didn’t fuck anybody,” John sneered. “Now I know that’s a lie.”  
“She’s fucking around with The Rev,” Tyler informed the group.  
My hands found the roots of my hair as I gripped at it with utmost frustration. It was like pulling clumps of my own DNA from my scalp would somehow remedy the situation at hand.   
It did not.  
“No, I’m fucking not,” I moaned. “And even if I was, who fucking cares?”  
“I don’t!” Justin announced, leaning back with his hands resting comfortably on the back of his head. “Blair’s fucking her way to the top and we’re all reaping the benefits. Win, win.”  
“I’m not—” I went to argue but quickly realized it was a pointless endeavor.   
Why my sexual prowess affected Tyler, I’d never know. We’d never crossed that boundary. We’d never even considered it—or I hadn’t, anyway. And if he had, I never knew about it. Our friendship was strictly platonic. It was anti-romantic. He was the equivalent of my irritating brother; a conjoined twin that was always whispering condescending mantras into my ear. The evil half of our duo.   
He judged absolutely everything I did.   
Nothing was ever good enough. Nothing was ever done the way he wanted, even if it worked out just the way he’d hoped. It was the journey he was in eternal disparagement of. Each step I took was in the wrong foothold.   
“However it was accomplished,” Austin interjected, sensing a war building between Tyler and I, “is entirely irrelevant. The point here is that you’ve been offered this opportunity and we have until six o’clock to give our answer.”  
Tyler and I were still engaged in a cold war of glares, each unflinching.   
The others didn’t seem to notice, or maybe they didn’t care.   
“So?” Austin asked with a deep breath. “What’s the verdict?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find this story and a bunch of others (including more written by yours truly) on www.a7xfanfic.com -- If you haven't already, come join our fanfic community xx


	15. Overload

Chapter Fifteen: Overload

“I assume you’re with me,” Tyler’s voice sounded from somewhere behind my back.   
While Austin had gotten deep into the details regarding this apparent upcoming tour, I’d excused myself for some nicotine therapy. The chemicals swirled in toxic release inside my lungs, each breath aching and relieving all at once. Sometimes a few minutes of deadly serenity was all a person really needed. I just happened to need mine every thirty minutes throughout the day.   
At the sound of Tyler’s irritating voice, though, I was immediately tempted to light another off the end of my still-lit ember.   
I glanced over my shoulder to find him nearing me. With a roll of my eyes, I turned away with my skin crawling as each of my nerves rebelled in a dizzying display of interpretive dance.  
“Are you deaf?” he asked as he stepped out in front of me.   
I shook my head, doing my best not to make eye contact of any form, “Nope.”  
“I asked you a question, Blair,” he informed me flatly.  
“No,” I corrected smugly. “You made an assumption, which is more of a fact than a question. Maybe you should try adjusting your inflection. That might help next time.”  
It was his turn to roll his eyes, “Oh, shut up.”  
“If you say so.”  
I pressed the cigarette between my lips once more, taking a long drag without muttering another word to my supposed best friend. He stared at me like I’d grown a second head.   
“Okay, I was going to wait to hash this out,” he began irately, “but you’re acting like a fucking baby so obviously we need to talk.”  
My brows furrowed on their own accord, “You just told me to shut up. You’re sending mixed signals, Tyler. You should really try and be more clear and concise. Tell you what, why don’t you go over there, get in your car, start driving to Anaheim and really think about what it is you’re trying to say. Maybe by time you get there, you will have figured out what it is you’re trying to get the fuck across.”  
I swear he nearly shattered his jaw into a million tiny fragments he clenched it so tightly.   
“Knock it off,” he instructed me, seemingly more of an authoritarian than a friend. “I can tell you’re pissed but I really don’t know why. If this is about the other day, nothing I said was inaccurate.”  
I nearly choked on the smoke fighting its way into my lungs, “Excuse the fuck out of you?”  
“What did I say that’s got you this fucking mad? I was worried about our band’s future. You aren’t exactly known for your great decision making skills. I wasn’t wrong to be worried.”  
Instinctively, my mind went to retreat. I could feel the walls closing in brick by brick, the mortar spreading tactically. There was a storm of thoughts thundering inside the deepest recesses of my resentment, begging to unleash them.   
10, 9, 8  
But in a momentary, and unexpected, glimmer of possession, I felt my lips part and my throat begin to work itself into overdrive as my feet carried me straight over the invisible line drawn out between us.  
“Okay, you know the fuck what?” I began lowly, my teeth grit to keep from eating him alive. “Even if that were the truth, which it is not, that’s an aggressively warped perception you have, Tyler. You think it’s okay to berate me about my fucking sex life? You think it’s acceptable to dictate not only who I spend my time with but what I do with my body? Jesus Christ, dude. What the fuck year is it? Come into the modern world, won’t you?”  
His face twisted as he opened his mouth to speak. But a hand of mine instantly flew up, cutting him off as my wrath bellowed.   
“No, shut the fuck up. It’s my turn to talk for once.”  
“Blair—”  
“You threw my god damn parents in my face, Tyler!” I growled. “How fucking low can you sink? You weren’t getting to me quick enough so you figured you should hit me where you knew it would hurt? Fuck you. Every god damn day, it’s something else vile and disgusting with you. If it isn’t you making me feel like some fucking hooker working the red light district, it’s rubbing my personal tragedies in my fucking face. Even today, you couldn’t resist making some comment about how my vagina launched a tour! You fucking disgust me. You literally fucking disgust me.”  
To my surprise, and offence, he began laughing.  
A lot.  
“Did it occur to you that maybe that feeling is mutual?” he retorted emotionlessly. “I’ve been carrying you for so long at this point that the dead weight is exhausting, Blair. You hold me back. I’ve been trying to bring you with me, hoping maybe you’d snap out of this ‘woe is me’ bullshit you’ve been living your life by since we were kids, but no. It doesn’t work.”  
“That’s a fucking joke,” I scoffed loudly. “I operate under the ‘woe is me’ mantra? Isn’t that kind of fucking hypocritical? Do you even hear yourself?”  
“Sure do,” he assured me. “As often as possible.”  
His arrogance was nothing short of nauseating.   
“Conversation over,” I informed him with a frustrated shake of my head. “Talking to you is like talking to a really busted down brick wall.”  
I turned on my heel, tossing my cigarette to the concrete as I attempted to make a getaway.  
Unfortunately, Tyler was never one to give up the last word. He always needed to have a sounding board. He needed to be heard. He needed the validation.   
He cut me off in a violent whirlwind, his hands gripping both my shoulders as he wormed his way in front of my small frame.  
“This conversation is far from over,” he snarled.   
“We have nothing to talk about,” I argued, ripping his hands off my skin. “Anything you say at this point, Tyler, is just going to make me fucking hate you. Is that what you want?”  
“Oh, don’t do that. Don’t go playing the fucking victim, Blair. It’s so fucking tiring.”  
There were no words.  
All I could do was blink.  
Was this dude for real?  
It was like running in circles, chasing our tails. Typically, I would have given in by now. I would have bent down onto one knee, bowed my head, and hailed the king of bullshit. But not today. Something had shifted inside of me. It was subtle and it was feeble, it wavered under the pressure of his gaze.  
But it was there.  
And like hell was I going to set it free.  
“I’ve given you everything,” he told me sternly. “I gave you a career, I gave you notoriety. I gave you fucking fans. I gave you income and security. You seem to forget that.”  
“And what about what I’ve given you?” I shot back. “Like, you know, my fucking sanity? Every waking second of my attention? You say ‘jump’ and I immediately head for the nearest fucking cliff. I’m so terrified of losing you that I sacrifice my own god damn soul to make sure you’re okay. Do you not see that? Are you seriously that self-absorbed?”  
“It has nothing to do with being self-absorbed. That’s what friendship is, Blair. It’s helping each other out. Making fucking sacrifices. I’m not going to apologize that you’ve had to sacrifice a few nights of watching reruns to come over and help me out. I’m not sorry. I gave you your fucking life. You can give me an hour of your time.”  
I pursed my lips together, glaring up at him, “Stop fucking saying that. You did not give me shit.”  
“Look around, Blair!” he yelled, stretching his arms out wide as he spun around, gesturing at the giant building we stood outside of.  
I’d never felt smaller. I wondered for a second if this was how ants felt as they looked up at us monstrous creatures towering over them, waiting to tear their legs off one by one.   
“You think you would have gotten here without me? You think you’d be _Blair Peterson_ without me?”  
Yes, Tyler was the reason I was involved with Haven in any capacity. Had I asked for it? No. Had I wanted it? No.  
But, had I ever actually expressed my right to remove myself from the equation?  
No…  
The weakness resonated in my soul. I hated to be such a fragile porcelain thing. I’d always fancied myself a warrior; I’d survived more in my short life than most would ever endure in sixty years. And I was, somehow, still breathing.   
But did that make me strong? Did it really make me invincible like I thought? Like I wanted the world to believe?  
Tyler could see the cracks in my build. He knew where the chips were. He knew how to pick at them until I crumbled.   
As a myriad of intrusive thoughts began making their way in, one unfamiliar voice began to echo from deep in the caverns of my mind. The lisping was unmistakeable. The words it sputtered sought to strike out the darkness, waving a torch in every direction until suddenly the world became clear once more.   
I narrowed my eyes up at my best friend, speaking clearly, “Yes, I do. I was fucking born Blair Peterson. You were born a pathetic piece of shit.”   
“Clever,” Tyler grumbled.  
I took a deep breath, “Don’t follow me, Tyler. I mean it.”  
And with that, I pushed passed him as aggressively as humanly possible. I wanted to assault him. Desperately. I wanted to drag my palm across his smug face.   
I thought maybe I’d made a clear break this time. That maybe, just maybe, Tyler might respect me—or our friendship—enough to actually listen to me just once.   
But his steps were swiftly heard picking up the pace behind me.   
This time, I continued walking, not entirely sure where I was headed—anywhere away from Tyler would do just fine.   
“You fucking need me, Blair,” he yelled at me, apparently now resigned to make a scene.   
To my horror, the band of idiots were now filing out from the building and headed in our direction. Justin led the pack, as he usually did, while Chris and John tailed behind, jabbing their elbows at one another amusedly.   
To try and save at least a sliver of my ego—and to save the band from overhearing the latest quarrel—I whipped back around.  
“I don’t need you,” I replied seriously. “I don’t need fucking anybody. The truth here, Tyler, is that you need me. You know it, I know it. You have no fucking idea what you’d do without me. The thought terrifies you. So, you do everything you fucking can to control me. To keep me close to you. Because you god damn know that if you call, I’ll come running. I’m so fucking afraid of losing anyone else in my life that you take complete fucking advantage of it. You abuse it. You abuse my love for you. You abuse everything I do for you. I don’t fucking need you. You need me.”  
“Now you just sound delusional!”  
“I sound delusional?! You talk about giving me my life like it’s even remotely accurate. How many songs have you ripped off from me, Tyler? Huh? How many lyrics have you stolen and passed off as your own? How many times have you told me I’m creatively inept whilst simultaneously taking credit for shit I created!? You needed my voice. You needed my appeal. You, and this fucking band, need me more than I’ll ever need any of you. I’m sick to death of you parading around like you did me some favor by including me in this band because honestly? You wouldn’t be here without me. California was my dream. And you stole that too. I’d be here with or without you. Get that through your fucking head already. And honestly, Ty, until you do, don’t bother calling me.”  
This time, Tyler didn’t follow me. The words hung in the air like stars, each one bright and burning.   
By time I’d made it to the parking lot, another cigarette lit and in hand, I’d mostly gotten the anxiety under control. Sure, I was so stressed out that I could _hear_ my blood pressure, but damn did it feel good to get some of that shit off my chest.   
It felt good to start wading into the waters of my worth.  
However, in cutting Tyler off, I realized I’d also cut myself off from transportation. I collapsed onto a nearby curb in an empty spot lined with yellow paint, weighing out my few options.   
Today was going to be an expensive day. A cab from Los Angeles to Anaheim was hardly light on the wallet.   
I decided to take a moment; to enjoy the toxins held between my fingers and to mentally prepare myself to practically empty my bank account.   
But then an unexpected voice sounded out.  
I turned around to find Justin staring at me strangely, his face unusually free of tension.   
“Need a lift?”  
I don’t know why—and I swear I had very little to do with it—but this was the moment I broke. Maybe it was the docile tone of his voice, a sound I hadn’t heard come from his lips in many, many years. Maybe it was the look of understanding on his face or the compassion in his brown eyes.   
Whatever it was, I found myself instantly blinking back bitter tears that threatened to ruin my image. Justin had never seen me cry. Today was not going to be the day that changed.  
“Come on,” he said with a half-smile, gesturing to the right with a nod of his head. “Let’s go, Blair.”  
I was hardly in a position to argue. Justin DeBoer was showing mercy and I was wounded prey. So, I climbed to my feet, finished my cigarette as we walked in silence to his car and prayed for the best.  
It wasn’t until we were nearly halfway home that one of us finally broke the silence.   
Justin looked over at me, hesitantly at first, and then very quietly but incredibly sincerely, he asked me, “Is it true what you said?”  
There was no judgement. There was nothing there but genuine curiosity for the truth.  
I slumped a little further into the passenger seat, “What part?”  
“About Tyler stealing your lyrics.”  
“Oh…” I cleared my throat uncomfortably, finally nodding my head. “Yeah, that’s true.”  
“How long’s that been going on?”  
“Forever.”  
His forehead wrinkled as his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. He nodded along with his thoughts, eventually looking back out the windshield at the road stretched out before us.   
And then, to my surprise, he said, “You were right, you know.”  
I raised a single brow, looking over to him in lieu of response.  
He smirked a little, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, “If you tell anyone I said this, I’ll fucking deny it…But we do need you. You’re insanely talented, Blair. We wouldn’t be here without you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even me…Especially me. I’m full of shit and so is the rest of the world.”  
I had no idea what to do with the words as they fell from his tongue. The tears began to threaten my lashes once more. At this rate, there’d be a full-on war in no time.   
I swallowed hard, trying to mask the emotion he was sparking without my authorization.  
The only thing I could think to say was as eloquent and thoughtful as ever.   
“Okay.”  
He pursed his lips, letting a deep sigh cave his chest inward and without another word, he turned the music up and tuned me out.   
But even after he’d dropped me off at the curb outside my apartment complex, I couldn’t quite tune out what he’d said. I couldn’t shake off the momentary humanity he’d showed to me. It was a different side to Justin that I, truthfully, hadn’t known existed beneath the arrogance and the attitude.   
As it would seem, I had an ally in a place I’d least expected it.   
With a newfound spark of inspiration that I hadn’t felt in years, I hurried up to my apartment and sat myself at the piano. My fingers plunked at the keys with a life of their own, music flowing straight from my fingertips to my ears.   
And for a second or two, all in the world felt as if it were exactly where it had always meant to be.


End file.
